


All That Remains

by Eisengrave, Maelikki



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I Cannot Stress that Enough, M/M, RP Style (pov switching), and also really fucking cute, fluff to rot your teeth, old men being old men, really really fluffy, we needed something sugary sweet after so much pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelikki/pseuds/Maelikki
Summary: Throughout his life, there has been a phantom at his side. Watching, waiting, guiding. Ezio's journey comes to an end when he finally understands and sees the fate Altaïr endured.But not all is as it seems, and perhaps he is not the only one to have seen across time.[Or, we all know Ezio was Altaïr's number one fanboy and saw his memories in the keys, but what if Altaïr watched glimpses of the future that involved Ezio very, very carefully? Basically, tooth-rottingly sweet, reciprocated admiration because we few that ship here have been hurt enough.]





	1. Chapter 1

It was dark and quiet, even two steps in. Ezio had only just left Sofia behind at the entrance of Altaïr’s secret library. It remained an unspoken accord between them that she would not set foot into the this sanctuary of sacred, ancient assassin knowledge. Sofia was a respectful, smart woman, and Ezio had yet to explain the full meaning of all of this to her, but from his stories so far, she seemed deeply fascinated by this secret world that had produced the most interesting man in her life.

But all the flirtations and light-heartedness around the brilliant redhead had to come to a standstill now. They had no place here, and Ezio left them behind at the door.

 

Slowly, he lit the tunnel, and finally emerged into a circular room, lined with rows of bookshelves. But they bore no treasure, and no knowledge. There was nothing in them but cobwebs. Ezio let his gaze travel the small hall, but he knew he wouldn’t find even a scrap of dusty paper anywhere.

A circle of chairs awaited him. They were all empty, save for one. Ezio strode forward, head bowing with resignation and a deep sense of humility. He knew who had waited for him here, for four hundred years.

“No books. No wisdom. Just you, fratello mio.”

He came to a standstill before the cushioned chair, careful not to disturb anything as he knelt down. It only felt appropriate to linger in a moment of silence. The golden, muted glow of the key disc was the only light beside Ezio’s flickering torch. The skeleton didn’t look disturbed, resting in the same place, untouched. It was hard to imagine that Ezio was standing right in front of Altaïr’s last resting place. The Greatest Mentor to all the Orders, the Founder of their true creed...and he was here. Not buried with respect by his family and assassin brothers. No one had been at his side to mourn the loss of such a brilliant man.

Ezio saw himself, saw his future. Life and death belonged to the Order, such was the nature of their duty, their loyalty.

 

Even Altaïr, who, by design or coincidence, had been a ghostly mentor to Ezio himself, couldn’t escape this terrible fate.

“Requiescat in pace, Altaïr,” Ezio heard his voice waver ever so slightly as he reached forward and pulled the last memory disc into his fingers. He touched the old bones as delicately as if he was cupping a butterfly’s wing. Altaïr would have his rest, and never be disturbed again.

Ezio bowed his head as the disc began to glow and show him the last of the great Mentor’s memories.

 

Another apple. Another piece of Eden. That’s what Altaïr had died protecting. That’s what he’d buried with him. It glowed faintly in Ezio's presence, and began to unfold a story he could not understand. What he could, however, was his role in all of this. 

“Who are we, to be so blessed? To see across time, like this, to travel like no others before ever would-”

Revelation took Ezio, about his purpose, his journey, and he nigh ranted to the empty library. It had come to an end. He was a messenger, nothing more, and he’d finally made his delivery.  He was finished, he could go no further, he did not need to, he could finally-

 

The apple pulsed. Hard enough to fill the entire chamber.

Ezio stepped back, but the pulsation continued. He heard a sound, a sizzling, as if something was scorching the very air. Light burst into existence behind him, and for a terrible second, Ezio thought that Altaïr’s remains had been set alight by a fallen torch.

But it was much, much worse. The apple pulsed a final time, then it stopped. Ezio had his back to it now, because something otherworldly and strange was happening in the room. He could smell...blood. Flesh. A scent he was far too familiar with from years of cutting through it.

 

But this flesh and blood, he had not spilled. Nothing else but the chair moved in the library. Or rather, the chair wasn’t moving, but it was...filling.

Ezio watched in muted horror as dust turned into organs, flesh, muscles, tendons, knitting themselves onto the skeleton without staining it with a single drop of blood.

 

The spectacle only ended when the last patch of skin had closed up. Behind the chair, the apple sent its last few golden rays into the room before it finally stopped, laying still and innocent as if nothing had ever happened.

Where moments ago Altaïr’s skeleton had sat, still clothed in the old robes he died with, a man resided, unmoving for an unnerving and long second.

Then, his eyes cracked open and he breathed in like he had just breached the surface after a dive in water that had almost been too long.

He bent forward, fingers clawing into the armrests of the chair and coughed. Dust from his robes, stirred by his own movement, did not make the situation any better, but he managed to calm himself quickly, noticing the presence in front of him.

 

A golden gaze pierced the half-dark of the room and bore right into Ezio’s eyes. For a moment, absolute stillness reigned before scarred lips stretched into a warm smile.

The man rose from the chair, but did not approach Ezio just yet, instead stayed at a polite distance.

“It is you, brother. It really is you. You did come for me after all.”

 

Ezio had seen many mad things in his life. He’d seen the minds of men controlled. He’d seen glimpses of a future he could not hope to understand. His mind was not one blessed with great vision, or great fear. And right now, he’d witnessed what most would call a miracle.

He knew this man. He was young, even if his robes crumbled to dust around him. The piercing gaze, the scar, the face Ezio had seen in the memories of his mentor.

How could it be? It was the apple’s fault, beyond a doubt, and usually the apple gifted nothing but power, ready to misuse. He was a little glad he’d at least not stripped himself of weapons, but this was not a situation he could handle with a blade.

He pushed his hood back, if only so that he could fully see this mirage in front of him. Perhaps the memories had driven him mad, instead, and none of this was true. Perhaps he’d died, in this tomb, and Altaïr had...awaited him.

“Altaïr Ibn-la’Ahad?” His voice was thinner than he remembered, and perhaps he looked unnerved, slightly, but which man in their right mind would not be?

“You know me?”

 

Ezio received a soft, elderly chuckle for an answer, a noise entirely odd coming from a young man like him.

“You must have many more questions. So do I. Now, we could start with something difficult...”

Altaïr raised his hands, “How is this possible?”

When Ezio looked as clueless as he was, Altaïr’s amusement intensified.

“I think something easier than that should do. You see, I have learned many things in my, some of them about you.”

Altaïr’s Italian was thickly accented, but fluent when he spoke.

The man in front of him he’d seen countless of times in the apple, parts of his life, memories, repeated again and again until he became part of the whole, like a living presence in a dead object.

“But never did I learn your name. What do they call you, brother?”

 

“Ezio,” it had been some time since Ezio had truly been thunderstruck by anything, but this was an exceptional situation, and one that could have no easy explanation. He bowed his head deeply, his fist landing on his heart as was customary (or so he’d seen) for assassins to greet those of higher rank. Ezio never had to apply this gesture in anything but good faith. Very few men and women outranked him in experience and seniority.

“Ezio Auditore da Firenze, mentore.” The vague notion to treat Altaïr according to his rank was the only thought running through Ezio’s head.

“May I shake your hand?” it was an odd request, but Ezio’s sluggish thoughts at least managed to wriggle out of his mouth after, “The apple, it can create illusions, play tricks on the mind. I’d like to know I am not mad, or dead, or dreaming.”

 

When Ezio looked up from his gesture of deep respect, he would find that Altaïr’s hand was already outstretched.

“It is a terrible thing, this Apple.” He confirmed, eyes wandering over Ezio’s face, drinking in the sight. The smile on his lips had never faded and it was reaching his eyes, mirroring his joy at finally being granted the chance to meet this man beyond his time.

“Ezio.” Altaïr repeated when their hands touched, “Ezio Auditore da Firenze.” The name rolled over his tongue in his best copy of how Ezio had said it. It made him chuckle again.

“My apologies for my terrible Italian. Besides Niccolò I did not have much chance to speak.”

 

Ezio’s hand held his with reverence and there was nothing but admiration and wonder in his eyes. Though used to the notion, Altaïr felt the urge to make this man, this miracle of his very own, understand that they were equal, brothers through time.

He reached out and grabbed Ezio’s arm in a true greeting between fellow assassins, the metal of their hidden blades clinking together.

“Please, Altaïr is enough. You traveled a long way for some old bones.”

 

“I...” Altaïr’s brazen honesty was not something Ezio could have foreseen through memories and his writings. And the smile that clung to his face...it was the serene expression of someone who not only took the impossible in stride, but seemed as pleased about a miraculous resurrection as he might about a particularly nice piece of cake.

Ezio didn’t notice that he was still holding onto Altaïr’s arm until their blades, or rather, Altaïr’s blade and his bracer clashed in a quiet, metallic complaint. He couldn’t ground himself quickly, but slowly, he could accept that Altaïr was solid and speaking like a real human being. Maybe he wasn’t mad just yet.

“You left me a map. Keys. I assumed you wanted me to find you.” It was entirely out of this world, to be able to speak to the man who only existed in pages of his journal and his codex, the man who had guided Ezio throughout his life, who had walked at his side as a phantom at times.

Awestruck, Ezio tried to straighten his stooping back. Altaïr was fairly tall, and looking up at him with a smile on his face felt like an ill-advised morning of staring into the sun.

“Here I am. Here...you are. I’m...it is an honor. Forgive me, I am tongue-tied. Your Italian is great.”

 

The man in front of Altaïr, Ezio, the one he had seen experience tragedy and loneliness throughout his life, was lost for words and yet, Altaïr found wonder in his eyes.

“It is my honor to meet you, Ezio, at last. I think I must be grateful to this thing in the end, for it gave me something I never thought I could have.”

After spending most of the latter half of his life studying the Apple, looking into it and seeing things so miraculous like he had, Altaïr was not really surprised about what it was capable of. What must seem like a miracle to anyone else, to him was just a lucky coincidence, another one of those things the artifact did that Altaïr could not have predicted, but accepted nonetheless.

“I did want you to find me, but I am grateful for your persistence and your devotion. You are a long way from home, my friend.”

He squeezed Ezio’s arm again and sought his gaze only to look at him for a moment longer.

_Ezio_.

The name echoed in his mind, it was like he had finally found what he’d been looking for. Something to call the nameless man of his visions, a name to give to a figure of his dreams. Altaïr felt the Italian’s discomfort, his inability to handle the situation. Very gently, he took over by not letting go off his arm, but instead stepping next to him, nudging Ezio to turn around with him.

“It gets uncomfortable in here if one stays too long, I’m afraid. I used to have terrible bone ache when I spent the nights down here. Perhaps we take to a more friendly place before we speak. There is much to discuss between us, isn’t there, Ezio?”

_Ezio._

Altaïr liked the name, it fit the man so well. Saying it warmed him from the inside.

“And let us not forget this.” Altaïr let go off him only to retrieve the apple, weighing it in one hand, before handing it to Ezio. “I believe this should belong to you now.”

 

“I do not want it.” Altaïr’s gesture was deeply flattering, but Ezio had a lifetime fill of unfavorable memories with artifacts like this one. It was, perhaps an overly cautious impulse, but Ezio couldn’t give the apple his full attention. Altaïr was alive, right next to him, treating Ezio like an infant or a crone, with a gentle, guiding hand. The bone-joke was not lost on Ezio, but he was handling this entire situation poorly to begin with.

“You should keep it. You’ve been its master for four hundred years.” And Ezio had enough burdens to weigh him down. He gently touched his hand to Altaïr’s back.

“Please, come with me. A lot has changed. I answer your questions, and you answer mine, mentore. Ah...Altaïr.”

 

Altaïr kept the Apple, appreciating Ezio’s choice. If he had a choice about it, he would not take the Apple either, not again.

He would keep it for the both of them. In his life there had been little he had been afraid of, and now that he had come back to it there was even less. It was better if he held onto the artifact.

Ezio’s touch was incredibly gentle, like he was still afraid of touching an actual ghost after all.

Altaïr followed his invitation.

“As far as I can, I will try to answer all your questions. And I am looking forward to hearing yours. Let us leave this place, I have been here for far too long.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Altair feels a bit like a souffle, you're not far off. We reckon our good old boy softened a lot in his old age. He's supposed to give you some of that 'old man has seen every crazy shit under the sun vibe'.


	2. Chapter 2

The waves crashed against the wooden bulk of the ship in a rhythm that Ezio found oddly soothing. They’d been travelling for a few days, and it had been enough time for Ezio’s heart and mind to adjust to Altaïr being...well, alive. The shock had worn off, but the wonder had not. He’d managed to treat the man very casually, but each time he saw those golden eyes and the knowing smile on his lips, Ezio had to wonder if he’d sustained some lasting damage to his chest, because it ached. In a good way. It was as if someone, some deity or some ancient one, had listened to his loneliness, and sent him the only man in all of time and space that could understand that feeling. It was kinship, kinship he’d never felt, even among his family of assassins.

It was hard to think of anything else but that amazing little revelation, but Ezio was a master at schooling his expressions and words. There was no need to overwhelm Altaïr with a lifetime of admiration and questions.

 

The ship had been chartered for Ezio and Sofia’s return to Italy before they’d reached Masyaf, and it took a hefty amount of coin to have Altaïr share the journey with them. Now, of course, Sofia needed to be given her own quarters, so Ezio had immediately volunteered to share his with the ancient assassin.

Who was currently asleep, and unaware of Ezio’s watching eyes. He couldn’t shake the admiration. This man, who currently looked peaceful as anything, was a legend, a personal inspiration, and now, the youngest ninety year old that Ezio had ever seen. Even when sleeping Altaïr made sure to take up as little space as possible. Even during his first lifetime he had always been resourceful and had gotten along with very little in terms of space and belongings.

When he woke, the first thing he had noticed was that his travel (and currently, bed) companion was not asleep. After only a few days and nights spent together, Altaïr could tell from the way he was breathing that Ezio was definitely awake.

He did not speak, however, or move or do anything to show the other man he was not sleeping anymore, even kept his breathing shallow and even.

Ezio’s eyes were on him, he could sense it, but it did not bother or disturb him. Much the opposite, Altaïr was grateful that he had an effect on this man from his visions, the man who had suffered harsh losses and loneliness. His presence filled Ezio’s hazel eyes with wonder, made him curious and excited. Perhaps one day he would be able to make Ezio understand that he considered him his equal, the soul soaring high up in the sky right next to him. He would understand that he did not consider him his student, but until then, Altaïr would do whatever it took to give Ezio at least some sort of peace.

Which was why he let him look for a while. Altaïr could figure that even though it did not disturb him, seeing a person return to life, especially one that you admired, was quite the event and every man or woman would need some time to fully accept it. Just like he had taken some time in accepting the Apple’s ways.

Ezio did a good job at choosing his words and treating him like a guest, made him feel welcome in that charming way of his, but Altaïr was perceptive. He also had the experience of an old man and knew the signs, Ezio was giddy whenever they spoke.

Altaïr could not help it, his lips curled into a small smile and he opened his eyes to look at Ezio.

“Sleep left you early?” He asked, voice warm.

 

Caught again. It seemed Altaïr had tricks upon tricks up his sleeves. Ezio felt the familiar bluster creep up his neck when the subject of his attention spoke out. So he had known, again, that Ezio couldn’t look away from him. 

He severely hoped that Altaïr was amused by his antics, because it was embarrassing for a man of his age to have such a fascination with a young, sprightly man.

“It did. It often does. Forgive me if I have disturbed you.”

And perhaps, some part of Ezio still felt like this was all a dream and he’d wake any moment, tired, defeated and alone, finally as mad as the world thought him to be. He shuffled back a little, but there wasn’t much room in the bed to begin with.

 

Altaïr reached out to touch Ezio’s arm and squeeze it gently in his grip.

“There is no need for forgiveness, you did not disturb me. I just seem to need less sleep than I expected.”

He chuckled, “Another advantage of this body of mine.”

Golden eyes wandered over the ageing features of his companion slowly, Altaïr had no hurry to map every detail. It was when their gazes met that he spoke again.

“If sleep decides to elude both of us, there is time for some questions. You must have many and yet you asked me few so far. Please, Ezio, do not let politeness hinder your curiosity. I am aware of your good manners. And the questionable ones.” Altaïr’s smile widened a fraction.

 

“Oh.” The fluster continued. Ezio could feel the tips of his ears grow warm. This was inexplicably similar to the way his mother used to admonish him for his womanizing habits. It was both embarrassing and endearing, something that Altaïr somehow managed to make an old man feel.

Incredible.

“Well, then that will be my first question. How...have you seen me? You remember your old age, your last day...that means you are an old man, in his young man body.” It was a clumsy question, but Ezio didn’t have the frame of mind to pack every sentence with eloquence.

 

The question was odd indeed, but Altaïr understood it nonetheless. He contemplated it for a moment, giving himself time to phrase his answer.

“I have everything still in mind that I did the day I… died.” It was strange to say it like that, but there was no other way of stating the truth. “And even if I did not, there would be nothing but the Codex and my journal to correct me.”

It was true, there was nothing left for him. He’d seen Masyaf, it was a ruin. Time had moved everything on, brought changes both welcome and unwelcome.

“A lucky coincidence, is it not?” Altaïr seemed amused as he patted his chest, currently covered in a plain linen shirt, “Though I suppose there would not be much sense in reviving me as a doddery old man.”

He watched Ezio’s expression and was glad when he found amusement in them as well at his little joke.

“From my journal, you learned I studied the Apple for quite some time. It showed me maps, things, events. I learned that all of those were both from past and future and started to pin down everything I could. It took me the better half of my old life to do so. And just when I thought I was done, when the Apple gave me less and less new knowledge…”

Altaïr trailed off, remembering the moment.

“It showed me you in the clearest vision it had given me until then, it was like I was walking right next to a young man on his quest to romance some  _ bellas _ .” Another chuckle, another soft squeeze of Ezio’s arm.

“Needless to say, I was intrigued by you from the very beginning. Why would the Apple show me this young man? What was so special about him? Well, I had to wonder for a good year until I finally saw the next chapter in your life...”

This time when he trailed off, Altaïr’s expression was not such a happy one anymore. “I’ve more than seen your loss, Ezio, I’ve felt it with you. It was like I was right there with you. After that, there were more visions of you, but they faded with time, became less clear. The very last one showed me what I interpreted to be you in Masyaf.”

 

“Really?” Ezio lost any notion of needing rest. What Altaïr spoke of was eerily familiar. But he’d walked in Altaïr’s shoes, he’d seen moments of his life, shared his tragedies. He just never considered that Altaïr may have done the same, hundreds of years ago.  It was humbling. No, it was soothing. Ezio knew how lonely he’d been in his pain and suffering, forced to take on responsibility and vengeance. But in his heart, he’d mourned, he grieved for much, much longer than there’d been time for.

Each time life struck and death took another friend or loved one away, Ezio’s heart had broken a little more.

To know that, even unknown, there’d been a presence at his side was uplifting. Ezio had always carried this sense, throughout his life, that Altaïr’s memory was a comfort to him. Even though he was long dead, he’d been a man to guide Ezio, just by his words. Of course, Ezio had other teachers, other inspirations, but only Altaïr had ever revealed any of the thoughts and knowledge that plagued Ezio’s dreams.

There was that kinship again, strong and urgent and desperate. Ezio’s hand covered Altaïr’s, holding his wrist, just to keep him close.

“So you’ve watched me, as I’ve watched you.” He met Altaïr’s gaze. The understanding in them came from such a genuine place that Ezio’s poor, old and broken heart lurched forward. He lifted the hand from his arm, bringing it up so he could lean his forehead against its palm.

“And I always thought I was giving in to madness to seek comfort from your words. Grazie, Altaïr.”

 

Ezio’s skin was warm and Altaïr cupped his hand so he could gently provide a resting place for his head.

His thumb softly caressed the greying hairline. To him, Ezio was beautiful, just as he’d always been in his visions.

“I was with you when you fell and with you when you soared, Ezio. And it gave an old man a story to cling to, a hope for the future and a soul to find peace with.”

Altaïr purposefully selected those words. Ezio would learn about their true meaning eventually.

“The journal… Were you able to recover it in its entirety?”

 

“Si,” Ezio rested his head in Altaïr’s hand. The soft touch seemed like an acceptable touch and contact between them. The words were sweet balm on wounds Ezio didn’t even remember sustaining. Ezio took a long moment to savor them. A kindred soul, who understood the length and sacrifices of their tasks, their journeys in service to a greater purpose. Never had Ezio felt so understood, and it was a moment he would treasure. He closed his eyes.

“It was good to know you as a person.”

The little doodles, the scribbled notes, the comments on his fellow assassins that displayed the dark sense of humor that possessed Altaïr...all of it had been enough to make Ezio feel as if he knew this assassin as a friend.

“I want to know you more, now.”

 

Ezio’s words were sweet like honey and they warmed Altaïr’s heart. His expression softened and his hand ran slowly over Ezio’s face, stopping briefly to cup his cheek and make him look at him.

“And I want to know more about you, my brother.”

The hand went on, over Ezio’s neck and onto his shoulder that Altaïr squeezed gently.

“So you did read the letter I left for you?” Altaïr remembered writing it, this last piece he’d added to the journal, enfolded in an envelope, stuck between the last few pages. The words he had hoped would reach Ezio, to let him know he was not alone.

 

“Letter?” Ezio’s brow creased in confusion. There’d been no extra pieces of paper in the journal. Perhaps the Polos had not handed it over in its entirety. Ezio had long ago made a distinction between the pages of codex, relevant to the new creed he’d imbued into the assassin orders, and what was personal.

“I read mentions of a prophet. It took me forty years to understand that it was me. But I never knew that you saw me. I assumed you a mind ahead of your time. Your designs...they all came from the apple, but I have never seen anything like them when I held the one I found.”

 

“Ah, yes, I thought being cryptic about it would make it harder to understand for those who were not supposed to.” Altaïr’s hand still rested on Ezio’s shoulder. How often had he wished to be able to do this? To comfort the man, tell him he was with him.  It was hard for him to let go now and since the situation did not call for it, Altaïr did not let go.

“After I had finished I thought about you reading it, trying to make sense of everything. I saw you, Ezio, creasing your brow like this,” Altaïr’s hand came up, thumb gently smoothing out the worry crease on his forehead, “Over my journal. And I figured maybe I at least owed you clarity about something. So I wrote the letter, stuck it between the last few pages.”

Ezio’s confused expression told him tales. So he had not received it, not read the lines written for him alone.

“Ah, well. Maybe it was not to be. You came anyway and that is all that matters. A miracle, truly. You are.” Altaïr could not keep his hand from cupping Ezio’s face once more. He could not tell him he was beautiful, not in these first few steps of learning about each other, but that did not stop him from showing soft affection.

 

The openness from Altaïr was astonishing. From the memories and the journal, Ezio had created what he thought was an accurate depiction of the man. Composed, fair and just. His hot temper and arrogance had been lost to a painful youth and replaced by a measured distance between himself, his brothers and his family. Altaïr wrote about the Assassins, their purpose, his musings for the future. He did not mention much of his family, his wife, his children. He’d been a lonely man, even in the midst of those that cared for him.

But now, here, he spoke with sweet affection of a grandparent. A proud grandfather whose son had done the impossible in the name of the family. Again, Ezio was humbled.

“You are...not quite as I pictured, Altaïr. Forgive me, that sounds rude. Is it because of,” he gestured between them, indicating something no one could see, “our connection? Because I feel as if I have known you for an eternity.”

 

Altaïr immediately drew his hand away and placed it between them instead. Perhaps his own wonder at seeing Ezio, the real Ezio, was going a bit far after all and it would do no good to show what he felt quite so openly.

“Forgive an old man for behaving like an impetuous young one.” He sought Ezio’s gaze and held it, “This connection between us, it...  _ you, _ you have gifted me with so much hope for the future, Ezio. It truly pained me to see you suffer, and now that you are here, I wish to lighten your heart if only a bit.”

 

Ezio almost regretted speaking about it. The touch had been so familiar, like a dear friend or family, wishing to affirm that Ezio was alright. It had been a long time since he felt cared for like that. The only point of reference on that account was his sister, Claudia, who always embraced Ezio like it was the last time she’d see him.

“My heart is lightened by your presence, Altaïr. And if we are being honest, you have every right to be an impetuous young man. You have the body for it.”

It wasn’t supposed to come out with a flirtatious edge, but that was part of Ezio’s nature, and it seeped into his very being, even at his mature age.

 

With his comment, Ezio managed to make Altaïr speechless, if only for a moment. He had lived 92 years, had seen love come and go, had even seen Ezio’s life and the way he was. And still, his heart beat faster and his mind spiralled off into some faraway thought, leaving him unable to form a witty response. At least for some seconds before he finally recovered and had to laugh softly for a moment.

+  
“I would say I haven’t heard such a comment in a long time, Ezio, but truth is, you might be the first one to point that out. Some people have to live twice to get compliments for their good looks.”

As if it came to him naturally, Altaïr’s hand was on Ezio’s arm again, squeezing him, seeking the touch, still reaffirming that he was here, with him.

“I’m glad you did not lose your charm, not even from all the hardships life threw in your path. I admire you for it, my friend.”

 

“Grazie. I will be glad to call you a true friend, and not merely a ghost of the past.”

Ezio smiled back at him. Altaïr’s laugh was a strange but welcome sound, and he wanted to hear it again. He knew they’d both faced unbelievable hardships in life, and if they could lighten each other up like this, it was bound to be a friendship that lasted. God knew, Ezio needed more friendships this easy and profound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old men fanboying at each other is my jimjam


	3. Chapter 3

Italy was a place to let your mind wander. Truly, Altaïr understood now why Niccolò had wanted him to visit so badly. It was bright and colourful, full of life.

 

It was no surprise the Italian Brotherhood was a perfect mirror of it. What Ezio had built, what Altaïr had seen him build throughout the years was even more impressive in reality. Not only were the assassins and novices as different as night and day, some old, some young, some women, some men, but their network reached far beyond just the assassins. Altaïr learned that the thieves and even the courtesans were part of it.

One thing they all had in common though, their deep loyalty and respect to their leader. Even the ones that had taken over in Ezio’s absence bowed their heads to him in deep admiration of their ageing leader.

Altaïr watched it all and it made his heart lighter to know Ezio had something he could really be proud of.

He watched Ezio eat with them and entertain his brothers with stories from the faraway lands he had traveled, he looked around the villa that was their headquarters and observed the novices train.

In the end, he found himself standing in front of a statue with a face all too familiar. Gazing upon your own person was truly something Altaïr thought he would never see, nor had he wanted statues to be build in his honour.

 

Ezio had allowed his assassins to drag him into a shared meal and eagerly harass him for stories. They were all grown men and women, but he felt his responsibility towards them as if they were his own children. Of which he had none that he knew of, but that was neither here nor there.

Altaïr had been introduced as an assassin he’d met along the way, and Ezio ordered some very specific robes to be unearthed for his sake. He’d also allowed the man free run of the headquarters to satisfy his own curiosity.

When he remained missing, however, Ezio left in search of him. He wasn’t difficult to find, showing up as a bright golden-white figure among the reassuring blue of the other assassins.

He found him in the trophy room, which held relics and weapons and statues, modeled on those found at Mario’s villa.

Altaïr stood before himself, a small, living shadow of the grand man clad in classic, Levantine robes.

 

“You are much better looking in person.”

 

“And you are much more of a flatterer in reality than any vision could ever prepare me for.” Altaïr retorted, but Ezio’s comment had a similar effect on him as his last one did. Either he was not used to flattery or he was not used to the flatterer or a combination of both which was entirely enchanting.

“Do you want to see me blush like the young man I look like would?” He teased softly and stepped aside so Ezio could stand next to him. Both of them looked up at the statue.

“It is quite life-like. I wonder who made it?”

 

“Italia has many artists. I had this one made after another I saw.” Ezio looked up at the statue. It was close enough to the real person in likeness that if Altaïr stood next to it, anyone would recognize him. He’d have to remember not to let any of his assassins into the room if Altaïr wished to see it.

“I have some robes for you. I think you’ll find them quite suitable, if you would come with me, fratello.”

 

Altaïr followed him, out of the trophy room and into what he presumed to be Ezio’s office. There were many pictures on the wall, some high bookshelves containing books, scrolls and trinkets of many different origins.

A map hung on the wall, the room was permeated by light coming from the large window front behind the wooden desk. Behind it, a chair, as ornated as the desk itself.

On an armour stand in the corner, Altaïr spotted a sight familiar to him. Not only had he worked hard to make this armour, but he had also seen Ezio wear it later in his life.

“Ah.” Altaïr said, without even waiting for his host, and walked over. The armour still looked impeccable, as expected. He reached out to let his hand run over fabric that had no doubt be re-sown but looked exactly like it had when he’d first seen it.

“I hope it has served you well. I made it for you.”

 

Ezio thought that Altaïr, now that they were in his home country, was done surprising him. He thought the tables would turn, and he would be teaching the old assassin new tricks.

But it was not to be so. Altaïr stole his breath once more and Ezio wanted to bow his head to him. How could he have known all of this? Prepared all of this? For Ezio’s sake? His guiding hand had outlasted hundreds of years and accounted for threats, wear of time and worse. It was astounding, the brilliance of Altaïr and Ezio felt less and less his equal. What had he done, in turn? Built the Order up again. Defeated the Borgia. Avenged his family.

Altaïr’s achievements eclipsed all of that, with ease.

“It has saved my life many times. The finest armor I’ve ever had. I did not wish to lose it, that’s why I did not take it to Constantinople.”

 

“It was not my own idea, I saw you wearing this in the Apple. I was shown its blueprints and accepted the task of making this for you.”

Altaïr’s hand traced the metal plating, eyes soft as he remembered.

“The journal was for you to learn, the codex for you to understand but this… this was made for your protection to safeguard you could do both of these things.”

He turned to Ezio. “You would have done the same had you seen what I did. Perhaps you can wear it one more time for an old man to indulge?”

 

“I would rather it preserve you. Your presence is indulgence enough for me.” Ezio wasn’t bashful, but the scope of what Altaïr had done for him continued to press on his shoulders. This man was to thank for half of Ezio’s life-work. The other, he would accept as his own accomplishment, but not without giving credit where credit was due.

Altaïr’s expression, however, wilted his willpower away quicker than a delicate flower in harsh sunlight.

“Perhaps when we set out to travel once more, if that is your choosing. I did say I would show you what you created when you reset the Order.”

 

“I would like to see that indeed. You said the brotherhood in Greece is the one that has been rebuilt most recently? Perhaps we could go there and see Cyprus as well. I’ve liked it there.”

Altaïr turned away from the robes, “Perhaps you could wear them then, yes.”

He moved around the room with soft, almost inaudible steps, looking at everything until he stopped near the window.

“But I would like to see more of Italy first. It is a beautiful country, just like its people.”

 

“I can tell you were a writer, brother. You have such a way with words. I’m charmed enough to agree, as long as Firenze is on your list of sights to see. Venezia is also a must. Roma, eh,” Ezio shrugged, but it was all in jest, because Rome did have amazing sights to behold. But for a native Florentian, the big city paled in comparison to the sweet charms of terracotta Firenze.

“Italia, Greece, Cyprus. I do believe I can drag my bones across such a pleasant route.”

After all, he was handing the reins over. The Order was strong, even without him. Everything could wait...mostly. He’d have to say farewell to Sofia personally, and tell her the rest of his stories some other time.

 

Altaïr chuckled at being called a writer, but the idea wasn’t exactly unwelcome. He had not decided yet what to do with this new life, but there was no rush to do so either. Perhaps some ideas would come to him on their journey.

But what mattered most was that he would be able to get to know Ezio better, learn about him and his life through interaction with him not by watching things over his shoulder with no chance to really take part in anything.

He would learn what kind of person Ezio was through his own experience, what kind of companion, what kind of friend. Perhaps some other kinds, but Altaïr forbade himself from thinking further.

“I would highly appreciate your company, Ezio.” Altaïr said warmly, “In fact, you must know my priority lies with you and not with visiting other countries. I would like to get to know better you above all things.”

 

“You’ve watched me for most of my life. Don’t you know me best?” Ezio made a gentle dig at Altaïr, but there was no malice in his voice. He was entirely too fond of the man to wish him any ill will. 

 

The journey to Italia had been long enough for Ezio to truly come to terms with the resurrection of the great mentor. There was no need to disguise him, no one would jump to such conclusions that Altaïr Ibn-la’Ahad could be alive, again. Ezio didn’t mind the way the novices stared, or what his associates were thinking.  He was laying his weapons down, passing on the mantle. And here they were, standing in an office that would no longer serve him, but another.

“I’d be glad to show you my home, Altaïr.”

He adored how that name rolled off of his tongue. Alright, maybe he was a little starstruck by the presence of the old master. Who could blame him for it?

 


	4. Chapter 4

Had Altaïr thought Rome was beautiful, he found Florence downright marvelous. It was smaller, less imposing, but was a sight for sore eyes with its palazzos and piazzas. Altaïr could see it was a rich city, people wore better clothes here, lived in better houses.

If he did not know better, Altaïr would think he had lived here. He knew many details about the city and its hiding spots and secret places. Whenever he mentioned such a thing, Ezio’s expression would turn into one of surprise, as if he still did not quite grasp that Altaïr had seen many parts of his life just like he had seen his.

 

Among the citizens, they did not look particularly suspicious, Ezio clad in the armour Altaïr had made for him and Altaïr in robes tailored to him on behalf of Ezio.

They had just left the square in front of the Santa Trinita, walking at a slow pace. The sun had warmed air and stone, but it was not too dry or hot a heat for it to be unbearable outside.

“Your old family home…” Altaïr said, “It is not far from here, is it, Ezio? Do you wish to see it?”

 

Firenze was a flower of a city, a marvel even among jewels. People probably all claimed such a thing of their home, but Ezio had seen other cities, had lived in many parts of Italia and visited the world to know this was true. Firenze was vibrant and rich and held so much life. He wanted to soak it up, truly, he did, but memories tugged at his mind. When they crossed the square, he’d been sharply reminded of what had occured in this city, shortly after his seventeenth birthday.

The closer they got to the palazzo, the quieter Ezio became. Altaïr wasn’t a terribly chatty companion anyway, but Ezio had been spouting small stories, mostly of places where he’d chased girls as a young man, or got into streetfights in much the same vein.

When they stood before it, it looked solid and real as ever. Ezio and Claudia had decided to allow someone else to move into the family home, a distant relative who was awed at the opportunity, but neither of them had the stomach to move back into the palazzo.

“It looks...the same, but different. It is not my home anymore.”

The road in front of the palazzo was mostly empty, now and then some people hurried along, but Altaïr and Ezio were alone, mostly.

 

Golden eyes wandered over the facade that fit nicely into the street and into the general style of buildings here in Florence. It was like Altaïr imagined an Italian assassin’s home to look like, inconspicuous, hiding in plain sight.

He remembered glimpses of the building and of its insides, mostly from when he had followed a young Ezio around, climbing through the window in the back at night to not get caught on his nocturnal adventures with the ladies of Firenze.

But it wasn’t just for his sake that they were here, Altaïr knew that. Ezio’s stories had become shorter until they faded entirely the closer they got to this place. Now, his lips were a tight line and his hazel eyes told tales about the loss he’d experienced.

Altaïr stood next to him and let the memories and feelings shared wash over him as well. Pain, guilt, grief, the burning need for vengeance. He stood there, feeling and remembering.

Maybe it was because of a gust of wind blowing through the street or because the sun tickled his nose, but one of these things, these little sensations that had not been part of the Apple’s vision, was probably the one to drag Altaïr out of his head and into reality.

He was here, standing right next to Ezio, the real Ezio, not some vision Altaïr could never touch or talk to, ever.

Words would not do, Altaïr could never express how he felt with him, but he could be here for him, reassure him, let him know for once in his sorrows that he was right here beside him.

Altaïr’s fingers found Ezio’s hand and after some very gentle touching, he slipped his hand into Ezio’s, holding onto it.

 

Ezio didn’t notice, not for a long moment. He was reliving his past, slowly, seeing himself climb up these walls, leaping across the rooftops to sneak out. He recalled watching his father slip away in the middle of the night. Assassin business, of course, but back then, Ezio had not known. All he could do was wonder what a banker did so late at night.

The days of his childhood were not all blissful, but compared to what followed, they were paradise.

Something warmed his hand as the sun kissed his face where it wasn’t shadowed by a hood. Ezio glanced down, and found a little gap for his ringfinger to move freely in. Altaïr’s silent support was appreciated, absolutely. It spoke of a solidarity that Ezio didn’t have with anyone else. His suffering had been his, and Claudia’s, but moreso his, because he lost more than just his family in Firenze.

Strange how he couldn’t recall Cristina’s face, but remembered the pain in his heart at her loss. He squeezed Altaïr’s hand. He was old enough not to be a prideful fool who stood alone in his grief.

“I should have it demolished.”

 

“You should do whatever you think is right.” Altaïr responded, carefully. Ezio’s tone told tales about the feelings he was going through and Altaïr believed his own to be only a fragment of what Ezio must experience.

“I am glad to stand here with you now. When I saw you first, like this, I did not have the chance to let you know I’m with you. I can now. You are not alone, Ezio.”

His grip tightened as he briefly squeezed the man’s hand. “Perhaps we should not stay too long, brother.”

 

“We’ve come this far. I want to go inside. One last look.” This was the house he was born in, after all. Ezio set off to step into the courtyard, not caring whether or not the distant cousin was home. It was still his house, he could enter it whenever he pleased.  But he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on only the shadows of his past, so naturally, he turned his attention to Altaïr.

“You never mentioned your parents. May I ask if you knew them?”

 

Altaïr had spent a lifetime dealing with his parents’ death, yet he never forgot the day his father had lost his life. It was not easy to speak of a loss like this, but he considered his to be less impactful on his life than Ezio’s had been on his. He followed the Italian assassin into the house even, but nobody seemed to be home.

“My mother died in childbirth.” Altaïr started, “I knew my father, for a while.”

 

Ezio was quiet, did not ask. They took the stairs up to the first floor, Altaïr following him like a shadow.

“He was executed for killing a nobleman on a mission. His sacrifice brought peace after the Third Siege of Masyaf. I was a mere child back then, but I remember it to this day.”

 

Now Ezio understood why Altaïr had failed to mention this truth in his journal. It was not something he wished upon anybody to imagine, nor did he himself want to recall. 

“Mi dispiace, Altaïr,” Ezio wanted to offer sympathy, compassion for a tragedy that took place five hundred years ago, to a man that had died and come back to life since then. It didn’t lessen the impact it must have had on a young Altaïr.

“It seems we not only share our sight and connection to the pieces of Eden, but our misery as well. I cannot help but think that it is a foul fortune that clings to our souls, poisoning those we love.”

These were dark thoughts, and it had not been the first time Ezio thought them.

 

It was not news to Altaïr either, this line of thought.

“It is part of the world we live in. We make our paths through it and choose who we are, but that matters little to the world around us.”

Altaïr turned to look at Ezio, then reached for his arm. “I gladly accept your sympathy. It has been a long time, but the memory remains. I understand what it must feel like for you to be here.”

They were standing what had once been an office to Ezio’s father. Altaïr remembered him faintly, a friendly man with firm beliefs and great love for his family.

“Your father and brothers, they would be proud of what you achieved.”

 

“And your parents are surely smiling down on you right now, wondering why you are not in their embrace.” Ezio appreciated the company of misery, or rather, the company of someone so very, very similar, and someone who had, allegedly, experienced everything at his side. A comforting notion. A younger Ezio would have clamoured that it was unsettling, but Ezio was too old to reject companionship where it was so sorely needed.

He laid his hand on top of Altaïr’s, and for a moment, he saw the aged man in those golden eyes. Had Altaïr ever sought comfort about his losses? Ezio didn’t consider it. Altaïr lived in a time of hardened men and deadened hearts.

“Perhaps I can substitute. Misery loves company, fratello.” He opened his arms and turned to Altaïr.

 

The offer caught Altaïr by surprise. He had known Ezio was a man that often dealt openly with his emotions, compared to him at least, and he had known they had approached an emotional subject. But the notion of being offered comfort for something Altaïr had tightly locked in a corner of his heart, it had him at a loss for words, insecure even, if only for a moment.

Comfort was not something you were readily offered where Altaïr came from, a fact he had learned to accept at a young age and never looked back. The prospect of it made him unsure.

Ezio’s expression however, it melted away his hesitation like the sun had the  _ gelato _ Ezio had bought for him back in Roma.  His hazel eyes were filled with companionship, empathy and a profound understanding of Altaïr’s long-buried pain.

Aware of his hesitation, Altaïr finally accepted the embrace, placed his hands on Ezio’s back and muttered quietly, “Forgive me. I did not consider your golden heart.”

 

Ezio folded his arms around Altaïr, breathing out deeply as he allowed the emotions to wash through him. Bottling them up only lead to anger, and he’d learned to let go of his. Sometimes, you just needed a friend, an understanding shoulder, and none were more worthy than Altaïr, who had lived so long ago and suffered as many trials and losses as Ezio himself. It was a miracle that he was here now, and Ezio would not falsify that fortune by letting Altaïr suffer memories alone.

Never would he have thought to be standing here, where it all began, and be at ease. It was truly liberating, in a way that bloodshed and vengeance never could be.

“And your silver tongue strikes again.” he muttered, revelling in the embrace.

 

Despite the hurt in his chest, Ezio and his charm had a way to chase away the cold memory. Instead, the longer he was held against his companion’s form and held him in return, the warmer he felt.

Comfort was not a notion unknown to Altaïr, but he had experienced little of it in his time.

Ezio was so ready to offer it to him and Altaïr soaked it up like a sponge. Pain, he found, was easier to experience when you shared it with someone, something he apparently needed a second life to understand.

This man in his arms, he had been his hope for the future and now was his comfort for the past.

Altaïr’s hands held onto Ezio, keeping him tightly against him for way longer than any friendly embrace would last. Despite his size, he had let his forehead sink onto Ezio’s shoulder, relaxing in his arms, trusting him.

“I am humbled to know you, Ezio.  _ Grazie _ .”

 

“You are taking the words from my tongue.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading this as i post it, its devastatingly sweet, i have diabetes now.


	5. Chapter 5

Firenze was an emotional showing that neither of them brought up. There was no need. Their exchange of pain had been necessary and Ezio had the distinct impression that both of them were breathing easier for it.

They decided to head for Venezia before leaving Italia behind. Now that Ezio had no obligations other than one last trip to the heart of Greece in order to assess the establishment of the brotherhood there, he felt leisurely about travelling. They rode on horseback, and Ezio mourned being aboard a ship or carriage. But he was not old enough to claim preference for either of those, so he let his horse plod on at a steady walk, watching the busy road ahead of them, winding towards the towering gates of Venezia.

They wouldn’t be travelling by horse in that city, anyway, so his sore legs and back would get a rest. Maybe he’d actually ride in a gondola, rather than just hijack it.

“Ah...Venezia. She smells magnificent, doesn’t she?”

 

Altaïr had a thing or two to say about the smell, because what wafted over from the city was definitely magnificent in all the wrong aspects. He sent Ezio a little bit of a disbelieving look and was relieved when he found his companion’s lips curled into a devious little smile.

“And here I thought you were delusional enough to believe it true.” Altaïr commented, voice full of amusement.

He did not mind traveling on horseback, but he also remembered well how painful it could get when your body did not comply so easily anymore so he was glad for Ezio’s sake when they finally arrived.

The city was entirely different from Florence, with all of its canals and bridges and gondolas. Altaïr had never really been fond of lots of water, but he had to admit the architecture was impressive.

They’d left the horses behind and traveled mostly on foot, but when night started to fall, Altaïr suggested to go find a resting place or at least sit somewhere. For Ezio’s sake, mind you, because if there was one thing that still surprised him about his rebirth, it was the fact that his body seemed to be able to keep going for days, something he had not experienced in a long, long time.

And now they were standing in front of one of the long boats Ezio called a gondola and the man in charge of the rudder was looking at them expectantly.

Altaïr hesitated, still, eyes darting to the dark water surrounding the slim boat.

 

“Well? Get in.” Ezio had already paid the man, but he waited for Altaïr to make the first move. There was nothing clumsy about his current body, and Ezio expected he knew how to get into a small boat. The gondolier’s moustache was twitching impatiently.

“What is the matter? Do you dislike small boats? Canals?”

 

“Water.” Altaïr muttered under his breath, ignoring the man waiting for them. Had his spirit not been the one with all the life experience, he would have caught himself a glare for his impatience.

Ezio did not seem to have understood him, because he looked at him with questions.

“Water. I dislike water.”

Ships were a different story, it was necessary to be on them to get to places and also you were high enough over the surface that Altaïr could just pretend he was on land. At least he did not get sea-sick.

But this… this was unnecessary and Altaïr had a hard time willing himself to step into the wobbly boat.

 

Ezio did his best not to smirk about this. Altaïr was a man without fear, who faced down the hordes of Genghis Khan, who dove off of towers and mountains in shows of courage and faith. And water was what concerned him?

Patiently, he waited until Altaïr had one foot in the boat. He could have reached out and helped, of course, but he didn’t want to seem patronizing to someone who physically, was half his age. Nor did he want to patronize the greatest assassin to ever live.

But a fear of water?

Now, Ezio was definitely going to take him swimming. Just not in venice, where the canals served as, well, everything to the city. Ezio had been forced to swim in the putrid water before; he would never do so again, if he had the choice.

He got into the gondola and sat down, gesturing for Altaïr to do the same. To the gondolier, he gave an address.

“Just try to enjoy the scenery, fratello. It is carnival, after all.”

 

As soon as Altaïr had set both feet into the gondola, he already sat down, feet together and hands on his seat before he realised what kind of picture he must provide and quickly forced his body to relax. ,mWhen he met Ezio’s face and saw his expression, he could not help but laugh about his own behaviour.

“Not with the rooftops in Roma nor under the sun in Firenze, but you finally make me sweat, brother. Because of this.” Altaïr gestured at the water, still amused about his own hesitation. Had he been younger, he would have been embarrassed but when you grew old you had to learn that some things about you could not be changed so easily.

The gondola set off at a slow pace and even though the man had been impatient earlier, he understood his handiwork and Altaïr decided that if he just sat still altogether, there was little chance for the boat to suddenly turn and throw them into the water.

 

Gondolas moved fairly slow anyway, so Altaïr’s balancing act shouldn’t be too difficult. Ezio was still chuckling about the vague embarrassment of Altaïr’s hasty entrance to the boat when the sky suddenly flared and bloomed into fireworks above them. He sat shoulder to shoulder with Altaïr and felt him jerk and tense.

Oh, right, fireworks didn’t belong in the skies above Damascus and Jerusalem at Altaïr’s time of living, right?

“Just part of the celebration. Look, everyone is wearing masks. It is tradition for the carnival,” Ezio let his gaze slide over the assembled costumes along the banks of the canal. Booths, jugglers, courtesans, the common folk...everyone was tangled in celebration tonight, and eager to forget the poverty of their lives."

Despite his visions into the future of the worlds courtesy of the Apple, Altaïr was far from fully prepared for everything this new age had to offer. Colours exploding with loud noises in the sky above them was one of those things he still had to get used to. He had, however, seen rifles before and figured quickly that there must be a similar mechanism behind it. Rationally explaining it took a moment though in which his body had already grown rigid and ready to fight his way out or flee as long as he could.

“It is tradition to light the sky with colours while wearing masks?” Once relaxed again, Altaïr was interested, “Did you participate in these festivities before? What is their purpose?”

 

“Mostly to forget how miserable and poor everyone is,” Ezio’s cynical answer earned him a hard glare from their gondolier.

 

“It is the end of Lent, messer.”

 

“A Christian tradition,” Ezio muttered. He himself had lost all faith in a god when he learned of the beings that made the pieces of Eden, and his relationship to religion had turned sour upon learning the depths of the Templar influence.

 

“Ah.” Altaïr commented. Son to a Christian mother, one could think that maybe Altaïr had heard of such tradition, but not only had his mother died before her time but he had also grown up to be an assassin, to question everything and that especially included any kind of religion or even the notion of a god existing.  He was not religious in the slightest, had never been, although he had knowledge about several religions’ origins and the differences in their doctrines. 

Under his breath, so that the Gondolier could not hear him, Altaïr added,

“It looks like it’s made to make people forget. Religion is a good cover for many things.”

 

Ezio elbowed him gently, trying to keep his face neutral. 

“Mostly Templars and inequality, but you did not hear this from me.”  It was another joke of course, shared between two old men who had so much blood on their hands between them that no savior could atone for their sins.

“Now, if Christ had performed a leap of faith instead of a miracle, I might trust the man more.”

 

The comment had Altaïr laugh, quietly, his eyes shining with amusement.

“He should have written a codex for me to collect and study, perhaps then I would be as faithful a student of his as you are to me.” Altaïr elbowed him back, “Walking on water seems like a good skill to acquire in Venezia. And prevents me from drowning as well.”

 

“Your messiah could be any fisherman then.” Ezio was chuckling too, entertained by this brand of humor that only one or two, maybe three people in the world could appreciate. Whether or not Desmond was going to enjoy it remained written in the stars, but those weren’t currently visible behind a wall of light.

 

“Heretics!” the gondolier hissed from behind them, unnaturally red in the face, “To sully the lord’s name on this holy night! Get out of my gondola!” He planted his oar in the water, halting the boat’s slow forward motion.

 

The amusing exchange between him and Ezio had been much appreciated by Altaïr who enjoyed being able to make light-hearted jokes with a kindred spirit. When it was harshly interrupted by the gondolier, Altaïr’s patience with the man ran out.

With the speed of a striking viper, Altaïr’s arm moved, hand enclosing around the man’s ankle. It just took a small, but forceful tug and the poor Gondolier standing behind them toppled over and fell into the stinking water with a pitiful squeak followed by an almighty splash.

Altaïr sat still and acted surprised, meeting Ezio’s gaze with playful innocence in his own.

“Perhaps we should suggest he prays to Christ for turning this water to wine also. At least it would lose its smell.”

 

“It would certainly feel better for him to drown in.” Ezio wasn’t at all surprised to see their gondolier make a rapid exit. He had been spoiling the peaceful mood and the reasonable, innocent fun they’d been having.

Now, it was just two old assassins, one looking the part, the other not so much, drifting along the canal in the liberated gondola. The water had a gentle current and was taking them somewhere. Ezio did not care.

“Do you think Christ will forgive us the additional sin of stealing a gondola?”

 

Altaïr chuckled.

“You should ask a priest. The heretic’s answer would be Christ was a clever man with some good ideas at the right time.”

 

Behind them, the gondolier had resurfaced and shouted obscenities at the two men in his boat, but the noise quickly drowned in the whole cascade of sound coming from the festivities around them.

Altaïr observed him disappear in the distance and returned to Ezio’s question after some thought on the matter.

“I think if the concept of sin is real, then you and I have little we could do to make things worse. Our souls would be lost forever. I cannot imagine the priest that would promise us absolution if either of us confessed.”

 

“You are the man with the experience in death. Was there a bearded fellow, holding open a gate of sorts?”

It had been said in jest, but Ezio was vaguely interested in the subject. A life after death? He’d only heard Leonardo spout crazy notions about it being possible, and nothing like what the church promised its following.

“If I had to picture heaven, it might look like this,” he gestured to the sky, “without the smell.”

 

For a moment, the suggestion had Altaïr remain quiet. Ezio was right, he should have some experience, but the more he thought about it, the fewer things he could remember.

“There was no man, no heaven, no hell.” He responded after a while, “There was nothing. I died and then I woke up.”

It was a very bleak outlook at the afterlife with which he did not want to change the light mood. He followed Ezio’s gaze up to the blooming lights in different colours.

“Perhaps there was nothing because I thought there was nothing. I hope for you there will be a wonderful sky, a gondola and your favourite wine. Maybe at every third or fourth bridge, there is a beautiful woman waiting for you.”

Altaïr chuckled about the vision of Ezio drifting along an endless canal, getting drunk and happily waving at women.

 

Ezio was very much indulging in how unfamiliar and yet comforting the moment was. Venezia wasn’t his home, but it was an important place to his memories, and it was a romantic place overall. Anyone who couldn’t see that didn’t have romance in their bones.

Well. Ezio used to believe he didn’t either. Not anymore, not after every love in his life was taken or killed or ended in disaster. When Altaïr mentioned a woman, Ezio considered Sofia, and the inkling he’d had around her. Sofia was smart, beautiful, youthfully ignorant of the ugly truths of the world.

And very, very young. Ezio almost felt inappropriate for the fondness he’d felt for her. Maybe it was Constantinople. Being far away from Italia and then meeting a beautiful and smart Italian woman...it was bound to attract him.

The nature of his attraction aside, Ezio didn’t think it was love. A fondness maybe, but love was no longer possible. It was alright this way. Sex and intimacy didn’t have to cling to love to exist.

And Ezio didn’t need to picture heaven with a beautiful woman at his side.

It was easy to turn to Altaïr and reach for the sharp jawline beneath the hood. It was warm, alive, young and taut under Ezio’s touch. But that was all illusion, Altaïr was older than any grandfather.

“I think I’d prefer an old assassin, waiting for me.”

It was as smooth as his little tilt of the head, the touch of his lips to Altaïr’s. Ezio succumbed to the whim of the moment, and he’d see how it panned out in the long run. It was an innocent kiss, by Italian standards.

 

Now, Altaïr had kissed people before and he had been kissed as well. He had had a whole lifetime to experience lots of kissing and he’d had the Apple to look at Ezio kissing people. Back then, he had liked to think that Ezio surely made up for Altaïr not kissing people because he kissed enough for two.

Altaïr had also thought about kissing people. To his own embarrassment, it had been Ezio, mostly. It was something even he as an old man needed some time to stomach, wanting to romance another younger man.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Ezio was male. At that point, Altaïr had long since given up on denying his attraction to men, something that only came with age and the acceptance that it was just one of those things where effort to change it was wasted.  It was more that Ezio was younger, way younger, and watching him, sometimes in his most private moments and desiring him for it, seemed wrong.

But Altaïr had never expected to be kissed by Ezio. One, because for the most time of knowing Ezio, it had simply been impossible and two, because he simply did not think Ezio would ever find interest in a romantic involvement with another man. Him.

All of these considerations had Altaïr stunned, if only for a moment. Ezio’s words ran into his mind slowly, like warm honey.

Its warmth spread in Altaïr’s chest and edged him on, finally, to return the notion. It was just a small shift, a little pressing back of his own lips, to let Ezio know that he enjoyed the idea thoroughly.

When they parted, Altaïr’s voice was low and quiet and he spoke against Ezio’s lips,

“I would wait for you at every bridge you pass.”

  
  


“Every bridge? You’d look a little stupid, running along the canal to beat me there,” Ezio chuckled, drawing back from what had been truly an innocent gesture. Yes, it was somewhat romantic, but they were in Venezia, at carnival! If you did not kiss at least one person a night, you were doing something terribly wrong.

Ezio gazed into Altaïr’s eyes, and completely failed to notice how the sky opened up above them, no longer clouded by houses towering over the canals. Instead, anchored ships became part of the landscape. It was only when the gondola gained a little wobbling due to waves that Ezio noticed anything at all.

“Oh...dio mio, we’re in the harbor.”

 

Altaïr had failed to notice his surroundings, Ezio commanding the attention of all of his senses. From the way he’d reacted, the way they had parted, the kiss had been innocent, but Altaïr’s insides were anything but. It was good to have a distraction and bad at the same time, because they were surrounded by water and had no way of steering the gondola, having lost the oar together with the gondolier.

His hands clamped down onto the seat again as he looked around for anything to jump to, but land or even the other boats were too far away.

Altaïr moved forward and reached for the plank on the other side of the gondola. A harsh tug and a crack later, he held the plank in hands and began to paddle.

“Grab one, too. I cannot swim.”

 

“Please, laugh, smile, tell me that is a poor joke.” When Altaïr did none of these things, and instead paddled madly with the former bench, Ezio had to accept it as truth. He too moved, stemming a foot against the seat he’d just occupied and broke off the plank. He’d rather not hop into the cold water right now.

“That gondolier is going to be very angry. Better leave him some coin. You cannot swim?”

Ezio fell into an easy rhythm with Altaïr’s paddling, but it was fairly difficult against the gentle current flooding out of the canal.

“It looks like I’ll have to teach you something new then, after five hundred years.”

 

“I wish you good luck getting me into water. My wife used to say I was a cat in a human body.”

Altaïr shuffled until he sat in the front, paddling on the opposite side from Ezio. Slowly, the gondola moved back to where they wanted it.

“But perhaps you could convince me.”

 

“I think I can.”

Ezio was quick to move on. There was nothing to say about the kiss, it had been a spur of the moment thing, a sign of affection, an appreciation of his company. There was no need to dwell on any of it, and Ezio did not.

“I’ve a hand for cats.”

They made it to shore without any wet adventures on Altaïr’s part and Ezio noted just how quickly the young man jumped out of the gondola. That fear of water must have been very, very potent indeed.

“Let’s go enjoy the carnival, _fratello mio_.”


	6. Chapter 6

Venice was not the last stop on their journey. Initially, Ezio had only intended to show Altaïr the joys of Italia. Beyond that, the ancient assassin mentor would have to make his own choices in what he wanted to see of the world.

But, like so many other things in his life, it would not be this way. Three cities were not enough to quench Ezio’s need to be at Altaïr’s side. Every night spent drinking and talking was another burden lifted from Ezio’s shoulders, and he was beginning to fall into easy addiction with the fact that he could tell Altaïr any and everything. They laughed at his mishaps and misadventures, they discussed his setbacks and failures, they mentioned the successes his killings had brought.

It was like having a brother, a father, a mentor, another assassin, all rolled into one. But Altaïr truly knew everything Ezio had always wondered, and he answered each question his own way.

So when time came to part ways and board a ship to Athens, Ezio didn’t hesitate to change his mind and join Altaïr on this next adventure too. Perhaps it was selfish to keep Altaïr from the Brotherhood, and it was indulgent to retire, but Ezio wanted a little piece of life, and this one had risen from the dead for him.

 

-x-

 

Athens was impressive, like Rome but unlike Rome at the same time. Altaïr had been glad for Ezio’s continued company, but he had grown more quiet with each day that passed on the ship.

Once he’d set foot on land, the dark veil clouding his mind lifted though and he could appreciate the beauty of another foreign city around him.

Ezio had spoken of the Greek branch of the Order just recently having been established so both of them were on the lookout for any hints to the brotherhood.

Not an easy task, but with the combined experience of two master assassins themselves, they expected to find a lead soon.

They had spent a mere two hours on land, walking through the city, when Altaïr’s second sight caught onto some red figures after something blue. He brushed Ezio’s arm. “I will see you at their hideout.” Was all he said before he disappeared into the crowd, gone within the blink of an eye.

There was no doubt Ezio would find a lead, but Altaïr was onto something. His eyes had never lied to him, there were two allies, potentially assassins, in peril and he would help them out and then ask them about their hideout.

 

Altaïr made it through a narrow path between houses only to find himself staring at five guards surrounding two young people that were standing back to back, trying to defend each other. The bracers on their wrists included the telltale hidden blade, but even without that Altaïr would have understood that these were assassins.

For a moment, he simply observed the two, learned about the situation.

 

“You will be executed for your insolence, child!” One of the guards yelled, “You and your kind are unwanted here.”

Altaïr’s gaze fell on the young assassin that was bravely holding her knife up, even though there was blood dripping onto the ground from somewhere under her clothes. She tried to play it tough in fact of danger, but her partner was pale and his hand was shaking.

This brotherhood needed some work still if they sent out children to work for them.

All the more reason to deal with the guards that drew their circle around the young assassins tighter.

 

Altaïr threw two of his throwing knives into the knees of the guards across from him, making them sink down and groan with pain. Before their comrades could even turn around, Altaïr had jumped from the ledge, onto the leader’s back. Instead of killing him, Altaïr merely knocked the guy out, but he had no time to think about it as he rolled off of the man, drawing his sword.

Now, usually, he would fight with his dagger, but the sword served better to protect the young ones behind him.

 

The young assassins were not dressed as the Italians, but the hoods and accents of white among their clothing were clue enough, outside of the hidden blades that were not so hidden to the sight of a master.

Immediately, they accepted the aid of the stranger. Troubled times made for strange bedfellows, or something like that.

They murmured to him in Greek, but he didn’t seem responsive, so they concentrated on the remaining guards.

The city guards didn’t like their odds. With their captain out, they wavered for a moment, assessing the situation and deciding that getting away was better than making two arrests. With shouts of something, they retreated.

 

One of the young assassins dug out some broken Arabic, the only phrase any of them had learned to identify a friend or foe.

“ _Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq_ ,” Both of them still had their weapons up, ready to fight even the helpful stranger.

 

Altaïr secured the sword at his side, calmly, before turning to the two young assassins in front of him.

His gaze wandered over them, both of them pale now, exhaustion and fear written in their faces.

“ _ Bale kouloun mumkine. _ ” He replied in turn, completing the Creed’s maxim without hesitation.

 

That seemed to calm the two down. Altaïr tried his Greek, learned long ago on Cyprus.

“Lead me to whoever sent you. I will help you.”

He stepped closer, one hand offered in peace, palm upwards. The young woman was bleeding, she barely kept herself on her feet, but was still weary. Altaïr had learned patience in his life, so he stood there and held out his hand like one would to a scared bird in a cage.

The young assassins relaxed, recognizing the creed’s familiar words. Calla leaned on her companion, who holstered his weapons and draped her arm over his shoulders.

He gestured for Altaïr to follow them as he picked a path out of the alley. It was clear that he was an assassin, and therefore safe to take back to the headquarters.

 

-x-

 

Ezio had found the assassins with ease. The building that served as their headquarters squatted in the shadow of a tower, with a village none too far away. It was a beautiful spot, but not very defensible. The mentor in him could find plenty to nitpick, but in the company of the young leader of the brotherhood here, he held his tongue, allowing her to show him around. She introduced him to everyone in passable Italian. He remembered Kalliope when she’d been an novice, under the tutelage of one of his instructors, but he never spent any significant time around her.

She seemed excited, but also a little distracted. The reason why became apparent very quickly; her son was out on mission, and overdue for his return.

“It is an honor to have you here, mentor.”

 

Ezio bowed his head lightly,

“I am not the mentor here, Kalliope. This is your Order.”

She smiled proudly and he stuffed the criticisms about the location of the headquarters even further into the back of his head. Ezio wanted to inspire confidence, not shame. It was when Kalliope was showing their sanctuary to Ezio, complete with another statue of Altaïr, that Nikos, her son, returned from his mission, still pale in the face.

His friend, Calla, had passed out some time during their way back here and Altaïr entered behind him, the young woman in arms.

 

“She needs help, quickly.” Altaïr stated in Greek, and simply put her on top of the altar probably used for the initiation ceremony. He had little regard for tradition when it came to dealing with the here and now.

“Fetch a healer.”

He wasn’t exactly commanding people around, but his voice had a tone about it that demanded respect and urgency. Altaïr’s hands were already busy removing the young woman’s shirt to look at her wound and make it easier for any healer that would hopefully arrive.

Nikos was on his way, already used to following Altaïr’s command without questioning it. His earlier showing of just taking guards out without even killing them had looked like child’s play.

 

The arrival of a wounded assassin caused a stir, and Ezio was not surprised to find Altaïr at the heart of the commotion. He’d run off earlier, and this must have been his destination. Ezio stepped out of the way of the scurrying feet. The man who wore what he could only assume to be doctor attire, had been introduced as Kalliope’s husband to him earlier, and now looked to be taking charge. He ushered Nikos aside after giving a quick once-over.

“Pressure, here,” he took Altaïr as his assistant without giving him a second glance. Kalliope took Nikos aside for a report on the mission the two young assassins had been given.

 

Ezio waited until Altaïr was dismissed as well. He glanced at the blood on his sleeves, which was probably the girl’s.

“What happened?”

 

“They were caught by guards, I saw them with the second sight when we walked by.” Altaïr spoke in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb anyone and also not interested in embarrassing the young ones.

“I helped, but the young woman was already wounded. She bled quite a lot, but she is strong.” To underline that, he raised his arms with the bloodstains on them.

From the side, they watched for a while. Altaïr did not have to speak much to them to find out that the young man he’d saved was the son of the healer and the female assassin which he presumed to be the order’s leader.

Seeing them like this, working together, it made his own mind travel, had him consider what was and what could have been.

 

Ezio did not disturb his thoughts. Only when the young woman’s life was out of danger did the gathering of assassins disperse, two carrying her inside of the tower to rest. Kalliope was standing in the shade of a tree with her son, and Ezio felt almost guilty for watching them with such fascination. Family within the order was a difficult thing to balance. A leader had to give orders and make sacrifices. He couldn’t imagine that it was easy when it involved your own children.

He wondered if that was why his father had waited so long with the truth. It had taken his death for Ezio to learn about the order. Maybe things could have been different if he hadn’t kept it from him.

Kalliope kissed Nikos’ head, and Ezio finally averted his eyes.

“I’ve always wondered what it is like, fratello,” he muttered, voice quiet, touching Altaïr’s arm to get his attention, “what it was like. To have your entire family know of and live by the creed.”

 

The touch drew Altaïr out of his thoughts before Ezio’s words drew him right back in. He remembered what it was like, his wife living with him in the middle of the brotherhood, his sons growing up assassins, trained from a young age like he had been.

“It does not leave room for anything but the creed.” Altaïr replied slowly, eyes wandering to find Kalliope speak to her husband, giving him a small, but slightly exhausted smile, “Yes, you are family, but you have nowhere to turn but the Creed.”

Ezio didn’t seem convinced, Altaïr could tell by the way he watched the Greek family with interest. He reached out to grab his arm, squeezing it with intent to make him look at him.

“It takes more from a family than it gives. My son was killed thinking I had ordered it so. My wife died needlessly because of internal struggle.”

There had been nothing left but Darim and the Apple. And Altaïr had chosen the Apple over him, because it was necessary.

 

Ezio covered Altaïr’s hand in silent consolation. He didn’t need to remind him that Ezio had seen all of these things in the memories that the keys preserved. They were as vivid as his own memories of tragedies. Losses were always the worst.  Even moreso when it concerned family. Family remained a sore subject for Ezio. Once upon a time, he’d thought he’d be surrounded by children at this age, living in a happy, loving marriage with a beautiful wife. Just as his parents before him.

But Ezio was alone in this world, and there was no conflict about living for the Creed, as he had done; no one was here to demand a share of his life. His grip on Altaïr’s hand changed, from consoling to needing.

“I’m sorry. You gave everything, and you lost so much. I know it never stops hurting.”

 

Altaïr’s fingers were moving over Ezio’s hand, comforting him in turn now.

“It never does, even transcending death.” He said, quietly, but kept silent after that. Ezio had his own losses to deal with, also had a life full of hardships. They could console each other, but it would forever be part of them.

Altaïr’s mind locked onto the only family member that had survived him and was now dead for centuries as well. What had become of Darim?

 

Nikos across the room had sat down to assess his equipment dutifully, a concentrated expression on his young face.  Altaïr remembered Darim and Sef, wearing the same expression, eager to learn and to step into their father’s footsteps as quickly as possible.

“You must miss them,” Ezio muttered, thinking of his own family and how long it had been since he last stopped at their graves. He made a note to do so, as soon as he returned to Italia. And maybe he’d take Claudia along too, and remind her that he loved her very much. She was all he had left.

Kalliope across the hall did not notice the lingering, sad gazes of two old men, going about her business and taking her husband aside for a quick conversation.

“It’s alright to release the emotions sometimes, you know? Anger is easy; sadness is painful. But you will feel better, if you feel it, once, truly.”

 

“I will mark your words.” Altaïr replied, but in the middle of a visit to a new branch of the order letting out emotions was not the right place.

And yet his thoughts would not leave him alone, dragged him deeper into memories. Altaïr remembered Maria, his wife, and how he now regretted not spending more time with her and their sons. Now, he did not regret studying the Apple as intensely as he had, but the price to pay for it was a family removed from him, all in service to the brotherhood.

The worst part was that he would not make a different decision now.

But maybe, death and four hundred years of distance between them made Altaïr understand that even though it had been his burden to carry, it had also weighed on his family’s shoulders and he had never acknowledged them for it.

“Let us retire. We’ve been given accommodations, and I could do with a little rest.” Ezio coughed quietly, trying not to disturb the muted atmosphere of the headquarters. They’d stay for a couple of days, long enough to indulge the questions and problems Kalliope faced with her young order, and help out where they could.

 

A few quiet days, before they would move on. That sounded good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so self-indulgent i can't apologize for it

Twelve days passed quickly.

Where Ezio was mostly giving advice around the hideout and strategizing with Kalliope and Mykos, her husband, Altaïr made use of his rejuvenated body and helped out with training and recruitment. He was out almost every day, only returning in the evening and while it aided the Greek brotherhood, it also helped him free his mind and not sink into dark thoughts about his place in this world.

Because while he held up well in knowing that for some reason, the Apple had seen fit to give him his young life back, it became more and more obvious just how little he knew about this new world.

Altaïr was a fast learner, but he could never quite shake the feeling he was a little lost, especially not amongst these novices that had grown up in very different circumstances.

When they left Greece behind on a ship, Altaïr felt oddly free. Shipping to Cyprus was something he had done before, years ago. It was not Masyaf but it felt a little like coming home, something familiar.

Combined with Ezio, the only other familiar thing in a world unknown to Altaïr.

 

Ezio had spent seven of those twelve days with a lot of rest and the anxious presence of Mykos hovering in the background. Eventually, he shook off the mild cold, much to the relief of the brotherhood’s leadership. It wouldn’t do to have the respected, heroic mentor of the Italian brotherhood fall in in their care.

It was a little embarrassing, to be fussed over by young assassins. He was glad Altaïr wasn’t also hovering at his bedside, that would have been the pinnacle of humiliation.

No, Altaïr was doing what Ezio had come here for, giving out training and tips and being the youthful, strong mentor that Ezio had to admit, he wasn’t anymore. Perhaps Altaïr should take over all of these visits, some morose part of Ezio mused, but he shut it away quickly when Kalliope announced to him that a ship to Cyprus had been chartered on Altaïr’s orders.

He wondered why they were going there, but he didn’t question his companion. Altaïr had been a little more thoughtful since their arrival here. Ezio let him, giving space to the man returned to life.

At least, until they were aboard a ship, headed for Cyprus, and the sea air blew the tiredness out of Ezio’s bones. He’d climbed up to the crow’s nest, much to the captain’s horror, and stared out across the sea.

 

A while after Ezio had climbed up there, Altaïr joined him.

“The captain is worried.” He stated, amused as he crossed his arms over the railing.  The shadow on his face that had been there during the past days had lightened, Altaïr raised his head and enjoyed the sea breeze ruffling his hair even under the ever-present hood.

In the distance, they could already see the island.

“I’ve been to Cyprus before. Maybe this time around, I can show you something.”

Altaïr didn’t really think he could, but Cyprus would be the first time he and Ezio had time to get to know each other.

  
  


“You seem excited,” Ezio’s voice was soft, approving. He’d seen some darkness in Altaïr in the last days, and he wasn’t sure if it was the concept of family or the reality of his new life catching up with him, but Altaïr had not shared his thoughts with him, instead, choosing to brood and keep them to himself.

“Do you have good memories of Cyprus? I think I stopped there on my way to Masyaf, once.”

 

“First time I came to Cyprus I held my future wife hostage and forced her to come with me. Good memory.”

At Ezio’s expression, Altaïr had to laugh. “I helped liberate Cyprus from the Templars. She played her part, it was good. Really.” Seagulls screeching took Altaïr’s attention for a moment and he let his eyes wander over the island on the horizon. “Perhaps we can stay a few days. The last few days of you being an assassin, eh?”

 

“Oh, so you heard that,” Ezio had made those conversations private, but nothing was safe from a curious assassin. He was retiring from the Order, after this journey, and it was all etched in stone now. This was his last time taking such a long, arduous trip, but so far, he wasn’t regretting it.

“Mykos said I ought to be at home, resting, but there will be plenty of time for it.” It was a little sad, but also liberating. To think he would not interfere with the Order, or help deal with the Templars. That was a game for younger men to play, from now on.

“Perhaps you can teach me what is appropriate for old men to do.”

 

“Don’t stare into an Apple if you can avoid it.” Altaïr responded in good nature, “If you have to do it, then do it, but I suggest you concentrate on what matters most to you. The Order is in good hands, otherwise you would not consider leaving it.”

He turned around and leaned against the railing, mainly so he could look at Ezio.

“Forgive me, I did not eavesdrop on you, but your master assassins could not speak quietly about it so I heard.”

He paused for a moment, watching Ezio’s expression closely.

“I cannot tell you if that is the right choice, but I can tell you that I don’t think you should grow old regretting something. Don’t make that mistake.”

 

“I hear wisdom in your voice, my brother.” Ezio nodded sagely, careful to not have this tip into too serious a mood. Right now, he and Altaïr were free as birds, even if they were bound to the ship bouncing along the sea. But free of responsibility, free of attachment, it was a novel sensation.

“You saw my life, in the Apple.  _ All _ of it?” Ezio’s mouth twitched into a smirk beneath his beard.

 

Altaïr’s golden eyes narrowed, but the twinkle of amusement in them did not disappear.

“Enough to know your sins, assassin.” He said in his best impression of some Templar priest, then chuckled and tilted his head to the side.

“I think you had enough women for both of us. You had me questioning my own youth when I saw your wild one.”

He was only half joking at this point. Ezio had been ravenous in his consumption of women where Altaïr had maybe had two or three nameless women, then Adha, then Maria.

Altaïr held up his hand with the missing finger.

“I can count my conquests on this hand.”

 

“That is a sad day for calling anything a conquest.” Ezio laughed, only slowing into a cough for half a second before it cleared up. Damn cold wanted to chase him across the oceans.

“You have time to correct that, now. You’re quite the handsome young man, despite your mind,” it was nice to be so casual with someone of his experience, his age (and a few extra years). Ezio felt so at ease, he could spend the rest of his life making gentle fun of Altaïr’s lack of a sexlife.

“I do not have enough limbs to count my women.”

 

“I know.” Altaïr answered, “I’ve seen most of your women and could extrapolate the rest.” It was easy, making fun like that about something with little consequence. Another thing Altaïr appreciated about Ezio. They could not only talk about the brotherhood and its steps forward in the future and their shared experiences with the artifacts, but Ezio was an excellent companion if you simply wanted to poke some gentle fun at each other.

Almost eagerly, Altaïr returned to the compliment paid to him moments ago.

“Maria used to say she only learned I was handsome when we already knew each other for five months because that was when she saw me without this for the first time.” He pointed at the hood and chuckled, “I am not very fond of taking it off when I’m not in private. And not even then, most of the time.”

 

“Criminal. To hide a face like that. It was good of your wife to take you on good faith alone,” Ezio tugged at his hood, demonstrating how willing he was to remove it and how much more enjoyable the sea breeze was without it. The wind played in his hair, but it was no longer the mane he once maintained. Now it was short, functional, dark with big streaks of silver.

“It must be the name. I’ve never known a Maria who was not a marvelous woman.”

 

Altaïr’s eyes took in Ezio’s face, mapping every detail of it as long as he had the chance. He was used to the warmth spreading in his chest when he looked at him by now, but now the urge to take his face in his hands and tell him he was the most beautiful man Altaïr had ever seen was strong. The kiss in Venice had only made it worse, even though he had figured out already it was just what you did during the carnival. It was just a show of affection, nothing more.

Despite or maybe because of Ezio removing his own hood, Altaïr kept his on. He felt oddly inappropriate next to the man that easily knew how to handle his own emotions, how to underline them with actions so smoothly the target did not even notice what was happening to him.

Altaïr blamed his feelings on his returned youth, the body eager to find love in some form.

But then there was this connection to Ezio that had nothing to do with his body and everything with what Altaïr had felt for him four hundred years ago. The bond with him that had only strengthened when they had met in this time.

“Your mother was indeed a marvelous woman. And she made sure to selflessly give her beauty to her children.”

 

 

Ezio appreciated it. His vanity had dried up a little with his old age, and there was no more time to get to know new people to pay him such favors.

But that didn’t mean an old dog didn’t like being called pretty.

“Her beauty to me, her brains to my sister.”

It was a tiny dig at Claudia that he would never dare to speak in her presence, but could now that Altaïr had met her. Ezio loved her dearly, of course, but siblings had to have a little fire between them.

“She would have loved you. Fed you spaghetti and told you that you were too thin.”

 

Altaïr laughed again, his hoarse kind of dark laugh that wouldn’t be heard often.

In Ezio’s presence, things were different though. He felt younger around him (which he was, physically, but often forgot) and revelled in it whenever the notion came around.

“It makes me glad to hear that. I always admired your mother, she seemed to me like a lioness ready to bare her teeth if someone threatened her pride. Your sister has some of that spirit, I think. A very spirited woman with a curiosity for the unknown.”

It wasn’t like Claudia’s advances had been entirely lost on him, even if she was about twenty years older than his current body.

 

“It was not just my sister who had an appetite for the unknown, fratello mio,” Ezio did his best not to sound too devastatingly flirtatious, but it was a struggle when Altaïr readily offered such openings.

It was too pleasant, too easy, to sit with him and joke with him and hear him laugh, see him smile...Ezio’s stomach was pleasantly warm at the thought that he wanted to treasure this moment.

“You must too, it seems like everywhere we go someone ends up knowing you.”

 

“Maybe on Cyprus we have some time to rest from shaking hands.”

He was joking, of course. Altaïr didn’t mind that Ezio knew many people, much the opposite. Less focus on him meant more time for him to look around and learn.

 

They stayed in the crow’s nest until they reached the harbour. Once they had set foot on land, Altaïr thought the mood would change, but the warmth shared between them stayed even during their march half-way up the nearby mountain that Altaïr was convinced he’d been on before.

The weather had been sunny all day, but when evening drew in clouds brought rain and both Ezio and Altaïr got drenched while they stood in the ruins of what had once been the Cypriot order’s headquarters.

It was less than idyllic, but once Ezio and Altaïr had taken shelter in the ruins, the rain wasn’t much of a bother. It did mean stripping out of their wet clothing, however, and he was grateful for the warmth of Cyprus for it, otherwise this would have been an unpleasant stay indeed.

The ruins were still usable, in a pinch, though there was an entire wall missing, which now served as both window and door. The view was spectacular, with the mountain sprawling below them and nothing but green sprawling below them, only interrupted by sandy rock here and there and eventually met by the sparkling sea.

Even in the rain, it was a magnificent sight and Ezio could appreciate that the world was still beautiful, no matter how much blood was spilled in it. Clad in only the lightest of robes, he took a seat by the fire Altaïr had built.

“Well, it is no feast, but it will save us from getting wet again.” he offered a spread of greek delicacies, given to him before they set off. Most of it was salted or dried or bottled, so they’d be set for a couple of days. That should be enough time to explore the ruins.

“This is a great spot. The view to the harbor...very defensible.”

 

Altaïr pulled his wet boots off and left them with the rest of his robes hanging off of a statue that had fallen to the side.

“Is it not?” Altaïr smiled, sounding proud, “I helped pick it. We were here for quite some time, the Templars had fled here.”

Now that most of his clothing was wet, Altaïr was without his hood, his sandy hair damp and flat, the thin white shirt he’d worn under the robe clinging to his body.

He reached for some of the dried vegetables, hungry now that they’d ran around the entire day looking for this place.

“These are good.” Altaïr commented, “The Greeks really adored you.”

 

“You are the one who trained the children. I think that’s why they gave us so much,” Ezio tried one of the vegetables, then one of the cheeses that had been wrapped up carefully for the journey, 

“Of your favorites. Someone was watching you eat.”

Ezio let his eyes travel over more than the food. Altaïr looked like a delicacy too, but he kept that thought to himself. He’d always been capable of appreciating beauty of any kind, and it took a long while until Ezio learned that not everyone was happy to hear of it from him.

So, instead of making Altaïr uncomfortable by staring, he continued to dig into the large pack that had come with them from greece, and travelled up the mountain on the back of a donkey they’d rented.

“Olive oil. Another bottle, and another...Dio, no wonder this pack was so heavy,” Ezio pulled out three, four bottles as well as what he was actually looking for, two bottles of wine.

“They saw you make hummus. Now we’re drowning in oil. This one is on you, my friend. Find some use for it, I do not want to carry it back.”

 

Altaïr eyed the bottles. “Four is plenty. What was she thinking?” He sounded amused, looking curiously at the things Ezio produced from the pack.

“Maybe they think I’m too thin. Like your mother would have. Except they don’t feed me spaghetti, they feed me cheese. And olive oil.”

From the slim belt holding up his pants, Altaïr produced a small knife to cut the cheese with. He shared it graciously with Ezio.

“Or they want me to put it on my skin. Calla made a comment like that, apparently it is some tradition. But four bottles? How much skin do they think I have?”

The cheese was really good and Altaïr did open one of the bottles of oil, mainly for the bread.

His eyes wandered over to Ezio, expression taking on the slightest hints of mischief.

“Or they offered this for you. Ageing skin can be dry.”

 

Ezio had been content to eat and muse, but Altaïr’s comment had him choke a little on the piece of cheese he’d just been enjoying.

Digs at his age?

“Coming from a four hundred year old man, I feel vaguely insulted.” He laughed, flicking a piece of cheese at Altaïr. Dry skin was the opposite of his current, vaguely damp body. And he was fairly certain he was not going to take an oil bath any time soon.

 

Altaïr chuckled. “This is wisdom from an old man with very dry skin.”  More or less to spite Ezio, he reached for the oil and put some on his hand only to rub it into his arm.

“Hm, it does seem to lose its effect if you have been miraculously rejuvenated.” He commented before putting the bottle aside.

 

Ezio seemed happy with the cheese, Altaïr allowed himself to look at him for a moment. The warm light of the fire between them made everything look softer, warmer. To Altaïr, it made Ezio look inviting enough for the warmth in his chest to spread into his limbs. He averted his eyes and stared at the fire again only to lose the sensation.

It definitely wasn’t the fire, but Altaïr had to make sure. He looked at Ezio again, and there it was, the odd tickling in his fingertips, as if they were straining to touch.

 

It was as enjoyable as it was confusing and it silenced Altaïr momentarily.

The kiss in Venice came back into the forefront of his mind. It was like that had put warm embers into him, embers that were now bursting back into flame, a weird notion that Altaïr had seldomly experienced in his life.

 

Ezio continued eating, unaware of the shift in mood around the fire. To him, this was incredibly relaxing. Far away from everything, he felt like a man, one who could slow down his life and control it, finally. Seeing the Greek assassins come to terms with their place in the world was inspiring. He’d made the right decision, the assassins would be fine without him. They didn’t need him anymore.

Now, he was an outdated relic, an old man with little attachment, little to look forward to and a lifetime to look back.

He stopped eating, glancing at Altaïr, who had a far-away look on his face.

“I’m glad to share this with you. It felt like you needed to come here.”

 

Ezio’s words drew Altaïr out of his thoughts and he was glad for it.

Focusing on something else besides his odd obsession with him seemed like a good idea.

“I’m glad you changed your mind and accompanied me. I’ve been searching for something I still knew in this world, anything, and this ruin will do. At least I still found it in the mountain.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, Altaïr’s mind was back on track, suggesting he take the food as a reason to shuffle over and sit down closer to Ezio. At least that. And then he would run his hands up Ezio’s back and over his shoulders, under the loose shirt...

“Wine.” The word fell out of his mouth before he could control it, but he caught himself quickly, “Did you open a bottle? I would like to drink. To a journey well finished. To your retirement.”

Altaïr didn’t usually drink, wine really was not what he enjoyed. But right now it felt like a good thing to do.

 

Altaïr seemed to be falling into a hasty plan for the evening, and Ezio was content to follow along with it. Who would argue with wine?

He opened the bottle he’d unearthed earlier, offering it to Altaïr to drink first. They didn’t have anything else to drink out of, so it would have to be a matter of passing the bottle back and forth.

“I used to do this with Federico on the rooftops. When I was sixteen. It seems so long ago.”

 

“Drink wine and sit around?”

Altaïr had had three large gulps of wine and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, hoping for something to happen. Wine was supposed to make things seem lighter, easier, right?

He handed the wine back to Ezio and their fingers brushed. The sensation jolted through Altaïr as if he’d been stung by a wasp instead, though he made sure not to pull his arm back too hastily.

“I never drank much wine. I don’t even like it, it just seems like a moment for drinking wine. The view is impeccable.”

Yes, the view. A good topic if you wanted to keep yourself from having heated thoughts.

 

Outside, the rain had stopped and the clouds were clearing, allowing for a fantastic view of the harbour and the city coloured in orange, the sky beyond the horizon a saturated purple.

They passed the bottle between them a few times, Altaïr now took more decent sips. At some point he found that handing the bottle across the fire got uncomfortable so he did leave his side and sat down next to Ezio instead, finding nothing weird about it.

The wine made him mellow and calm, really, drowning his tension easily.

“One day,” He began, “You have to tell me about the secret of growing a beard. I never managed while I was still spritely and even my old man beard was not really impressive.”

It was a stupid topic, fitting well with how silly Altaïr felt.

 

Comfortable, that’s what this was. A lifetime of enjoying wine made Ezio appreciate the quality of the gift from Greece. The company was pleasant too, and got better when Altaïr sat beside him. The warmth of his shoulder brushed along Ezio’s and he couldn’t help but appreciate it, maybe lean into it, just a little.

“I saw. It was...a commendable effort, though. Your face is not made to have a beard. You need to sculpt it, groom it, make sure it is kept, otherwise, you end up looking like a grizzly old man,” Ezio ran his hand over his own face, and was satisfied to find no crumbs of bread or cheese. He’d had that experience before, and he was not a fan of it.

 

Altaïr chuckled. “I do not have enough patience for that, it appears. Not even after four hundred years.”

Ezio’s shoulder was warm against his, the gentle press of it against his own spreading heat in his body, slowly. Altaïr enjoyed it, like a lizard would enjoy a sun-warmed stone.

Thanks to the wine, he didn’t condemn himself for liking it anymore. He and Ezio were just spending a nice evening alone.

His gaze wandered, from the view, to the fire, to Ezio’s face and then down to the hand he was currently resting on his thigh.

Following an impulse, Altaïr took it.

“I know many that would not accept you are an assassin, despite your experience, despite your actions, simply because you have all your fingers. How things change. How I’m glad they do.” His voice was warm, but different than usual. It wasn’t the same warmth that an old man used to explain things to younger people, it was more of a personal warmth, reserved only for the assassin not missing a finger.

 

“You are the one who made sure future assassins could have all of their fingers. Among some other things,” Ezio had to remember the moment Leonardo had pretended to rid him of his finger, and how ready Ezio had been for agony. Sometimes, Leonardo’s jokes were cruel.

“I know I have said it again and again,” Ezio watched their fingers together, his papery skin under Altaïr’s beautiful, rich olive, “but we all owe you so much. I wish you would be a greedier man and tell me how I may make your indulge in this second life. It would be much easier if you wanted riches, or women, or a piece of land.”

 

Ezio’s words changed something inside of Altaïr. He wasn’t aware of what exactly, until it was already too late. All of his senses honed in on Ezio, fueled by the eager consumption of wine.

Indulge in this second life? His spiralling mind suggested something his body found entirely too enticing to resist.

Altaïr leaned forward, raising his other hand to cup Ezio’s face on the left side.

“I do not have to be greedy. All I want from this life is right here with me.” He murmured under his breath, having moved in closely enough so he could feel Ezio’s breath on his skin. Altaïr met his eyes for a brief moment before closing the distance and finally, finally, letting their lips brush together.

The touch spread the heat like wildfire, the calming effect of the wine turned around on him, making him eager and desperate. Altaïr only paused to speak the one thing he’d always wanted to tell Ezio,

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

 

Oh.  Ezio was hardly prepared for a turn like this. Seldom did he experience this side of an advance. And even so, he hadn’t had much opportunity or contact with anyone he’d like to be romantic or intimate with.

And Altaïr...that look in his eyes. Ezio couldn’t remember how to breathe for a moment. The desire there, it was more than a mere flicker of passion, it was a bonfire. And it was consuming, absolutely mesmerising. Ezio didn’t know what was happening, whether or not this was desperation, or the result of being somewhere familiar to Altaïr, or even the memories of Maria, but this was real.

Ezio welcomed it. He had not felt the touch of passion in so long. He smiled, eyes softening.

“Grazie, Altaïr. You know how to make my heart light.”

 

When Altaïr understood that Ezio was not rejecting him, was not politely declining, but instead agreeing to and even liking the idea of him doing this. But then again, Ezio looked and sounded like he did not understand. Altaïr wanted him to understand, wanted to know that this was all about him and had been for what felt like the past thirty years.

He claimed his lips again, greedily, hands coming up onto Ezio’s shoulders to hold him in place.

When he broke it, if only to breathe, Altaïr had turned, now resting on his knees. Not touching Ezio anymore was not an option, he brushed his cheek against the Italian’s, voice low and quiet, but mirroring the heavy desire burning in his eyes,

“I hoped we would get a chance like this some time. And I am not going to waste it.”

 

Ezio might be slow to pick up on the signals made by men. He remembered when Leonardo had tried to confess to him. He remembered Yusuf’s awkward advances.  But Altaïr was not young, or inexperienced, or coy about his desires. He was kissing Ezio, he was commanding him with the timber of his voice and the fire in his eyes and Ezio found himself convinced without ever posing the question of whether or not he could sleep with a man.

When passion presented itself like this, you could either be ignited by it, or try to drown it. And Ezio felt no urge to strangle such desires. His hand came up to trace Altaïr’s neck, the firm and sharp jawline, a thumb idly stroking his scarred lip. They were so close, he could feel Altaïr’s breath and heart pulse through him.

“I would be lying if I said I have never considered this. You were just words on a page when it last occurred to me. A young fool, hm?” Ezio sucked in air, remembering to breathe.

 

“You are, and I have felt inappropriate about you ever since the Apple showed you to me. A young fool in the prime of his life and I had no chance but to gaze longingly at him.”

Altaïr’s lips had found Ezio’s neck where he bit into skin lightly and then dragged his teeth along the skin towards his chest.

“And then the Apple, that damned thing, it teased me by showing me more and more of you. It knew, Ezio."

Altaïr moved, pushing Ezio’s back to rest against the pillar behind him, before he climbed on top of him, straddling him, hands impatiently on him, under his shirt.

He caught Ezio’s lips for a fiery kiss again, all teeth and tongue and raw passion.

Altaïr’s breathing had picked up when they broke it, it strained his voice when he said,

“I just always wanted you to know. So if you offer me to be greedy, there is only one thing I would ask for and that is you.”

 

“Then you shall have what you desire,” Ezio breathed, barely able to keep their lips apart. Altaïr was absolutely infectious and Ezio was happily submitting to the heat of the moment. To feel a young body pressed against him so willingly, so ready to show him the meaning of passion was addictive, and it had been too long for him to remember such intimacy. Now, he was parched for it, reaching for Altaïr and drawing him back into a kiss, slowing the pace of their heated exchange down just a little, his tongue commanding Altaïr’s as his hands ran up and down over strong muscles and firm skin.

If he was younger, this might have turned into a wrestle for dominance, with sweat-slick limbs sliding together in an effort to fit and belong, but now that he was an old man, Ezio wanted to enjoy this all, savor it.

The fact that this was Altaïr, his beloved inspiration, his distant mentor, his guide in life, didn’t lessen the passion. No, it heated him, it sent his heart racing. To know that this great man had desired him was flattering, and it wrapped Ezio’s chest in a warmth he hadn’t known since he was much, much younger.

 

If he had not been fueled by pure desire, Altaïr would surely have wondered about the feeling. Never in his life had he felt like this, never had he wanted, needed, someone as much as he did right now.

His impatient nature shone through as he rid Ezio eagerly off of the loose shirt, fingers tracing scars, old and new, on the Italian’s body.

Lips and teeth followed where Altaïr’s fingers had been. His own skin felt like it was on fire and when Ezio touched him, ran his hands over it, Altaïr groaned quietly as shivers ran down his spine.

“At last…” He whispered against warm skin and between kisses to it, “I was never quite satisfied with how your partners treated you and trust me, I’ve seen you with a lot of them. I missed something and I now know what.”

Altaïr surged upwards to frame Ezio’s face with both of his hands.

“You are the most beautiful man on this earth and I do not just want you to know it, I will make you feel it.”

With the same eagerness that had made him take Ezio’s shirt off, his own followed, landing somewhere next to them. Altaïr was already back on him, kissing and nibbling and sucking a wet trail down Ezio’s chest.

 

Now, Ezio was no shy lamb when it came to things of the amorous nature, but Altaïr’s bold declaration and subsequent attack on Ezio’s body had him flush. Pleasantly, of course, because no one could be angry about an eager young lover with a point to prove.

The most beautiful man on the planet...that was indeed a very bold statement. Ezio would argue, if he was merely sitting at a campfire and sharing wine. Now, he could taste the wine that Altaïr had kissed into his mouth, and small blossoms of fire where Altaïr’s lips and teeth trailed over his body.

Ezio wasn’t ashamed, not in the slightest, but he felt appreciated in a way that he didn’t think possible. There was something very intense happening in his chest and his mind was completely blank. He wanted to return the ambitious affections, but he felt paralyzed by every little motion that Altaïr made. He was not in his lap, but he could have been, he was so close.

“Let me...see you,” he muttered, voice low and no longer quite so even. He tugged impatiently at the few remaining clothes clinging to Altaïr.

 

At the request, Altaïr momentarily stopped his passionate ministrations, raised his head and directed a longing, golden gaze at him before he finally sat back on his haunches and got up. He never stopped looking at Ezio, his eyes were glued to his face and Altaïr felt surges of heat race down his spine and pool in his groin when Ezio’s gaze remained trained on him as well.

Altaïr was not ashamed, not of his body and not of its obvious reactions to physical intimacy.

With the faintest of shimmies to his hips, he pulled his pants down, slowly, eager for every little detail on Ezio’s expression he could catch. The last remaining piece of clothing was the bracer that housed Altaïr’s hidden blade. He rarely ever took it off, not when he was awake, not when he was asleep.

Altaïr moved to kneel back down, his thighs left and right of Ezio’s. Finally, he broke the eye contact but only to regard the bracer that he offered for Ezio to take off.

 

Ezio took in the sight offered, and it was beyond pleasing. Altaïr was a beautiful man himself, and perhaps, when Ezio was not so tongue-tied, he would tell him as much. Never in all of his long years had he felt such yearning for another, and he reveled in the sensation.

He took his time, too, even when offered to disarm Altaïr in a gesture of intimate trust. He bowed his head to Altaïr’s left shoulder, tasting his skin as he followed it down, leaving kisses in his wake. Altaïr’s skin tasted like rain and spices and sweat and it was an intoxicating combination. Ezio wanted to bathe in it.

When he reached the bracer, he lifted his hands, cradling Altaïr’s lower arm gently, undoing the buckles that fastened the blade in place. It slid off of Altaïr and into Ezio’s grasp. He placed it aside gently, lifting Altaïr’s left hand to his lips and kissing each knuckle in succession, all the while locking his gaze with Altaïr’s.

“All mine,” he whispered, one hand landing on Altaïr’s hips and holding them steady, finding a good spot to rest his fingers, “tonight, I am all yours.”

 

There was a low noise in his throat that Altaïr wasn’t sure he actually made for Ezio to hear but he surged forward to pin Ezio against the pillar behind him once again, kissing him.

Both palms of his hand he placed on Ezio’s shoulder, only to run them down over his body and hook his fingertips into the waistline of his pants. It didn’t take long, not with Altaïr’s nimble fingers, until he had worked them open enough to slide his hand in, fingers enclosing around sensitive flesh.

Altaïr, very aware of the age difference between their bodies, had not expected this to go quite as well. Having known his own body at Ezio’s age, he had been expecting… less, but was happy to be positively surprised.

He didn’t address it though, instead freed Ezio’s cock from its confinement.

It took a bit of shuffling backwards, before Altaïr could trail his lips and tongue far enough down the body beneath him, but when it worked, he glanced upwards to find and hold Ezio’s gaze while he wasted no time in sucking hardening flesh into his mouth.

 

Ezio had not expected Altaïr to even know such a technique. He’d rarely experienced girls that were willing to perform such acts without gratuitous reward or payment. But Altaïr was doing this on his own, without any encouragement or incentive, other than his own desires.

A deep groan escaped him as one hand landed on Altaïr’s head, gently threading his fingers through the sandy hair there. What an astoundingly intimate and eager lover Altaïr could be. None of his writings or memories had indicated anything like this, but Ezio was happily surprised.

“ _Dio mio_ , you don’t have to...” he trailed off, eyes closing a little, despite the strong urge to keep watching Altaïr in this position. His body was already pulsing with pleasure, but now, there was an additional, sweet heightening, pooling in his stomach.

 

Altaïr’s hands were on Ezio’s thighs, holding onto him, stroking him. He’d broken eye-contact with Ezio, simply because it was easier to focus on his task like this.

The comment combined with Ezio’s fingers in his hair had his body tremble, but he kept going if only for a few more moments.

When he parted his lips from Ezio’s straining flesh, he replaced them with his hand instead.

“I  _ want _ to.” Altaïr informed him, “I want to make you feel pleasure at my hand.”

Apparently, his wish was coming true because Ezio looked flushed. Altaïr smiled at the view, raising a hand to the back of Ezio’s neck. He moved forward again until they were pressed back against each other once again and pressed their lips together, hand enclosing around both of them which had Altaïr gasp into the kiss.

 

It didn’t really matter what Altaïr did, as long as he was touching Ezio’s cock. He didn’t know if he’d just gotten less demanding with age or if he was just incredibly attracted to Altaïr right now, but he would have been happy with a coy brush of a leg. Instead, he had an eager and clever hand, pushing him against Altaïr’s hard cock and moving together. It felt incredible. Ezio could hardly concentrate on licking his way around Altaïr’s mouth, his hips, usually stiff and complaining, moving forward with intention.

_ He is everything anyone could want. _

It struck Ezio for a painful, guilty moment that he was taking this away from someone. That he was taking Altaïr from someone. The thought vanished as quickly as it had come. No one was here to claim the old young man. No one was here in this world except he and Altaïr.

They had all night, if they wished to.

His body disagreed. His body wanted here and now, not torturously sweet and slow. When Altaïr allowed him a break to breathe, Ezio moaned against his lips.

“I did not know I could want like this.”

 

The words were answered with a soft moan falling from Altaïr’s lips, pleasure running through his body, making his skin prickle, flooding him with sensation.

When he opened his eyes, darker now that they were heavily clouded with lust, Altaïr replied,

“Neither did I. But I knew it had to be you, if anyone. Only you.”

Altaïr moved his hips eagerly, trying to find some sort of rhythm with Ezio. Ezio whom he could have, for tonight, just this once and he would not let him go until the sun rose. What was after, did not matter, not now when they were here, feeling together like this, enjoying each other. Altaïr had spent way too much time thinking about this and yet, reality was better than any shameful thought an old man alone in his room could think up.

 

It almost wasn’t enough. Ezio hated every inch of space between them, wanting Altaïr closer and closer until they melted together. It was an indescribable feeling, to want someone like this, and if Ezio had time to think about it, it may have frightened him.

But with the veil of lust pulled tightly over his eyes, his fingers explored Altaïr’s body, mapped it out for his memory to latch to, for his dreams to take inspiration from. What a fine young man had come to lust after him.

If Ezio wasn’t busy, he’d be amused, flustered and intrigued. But the push and slide of their cocks together was delicious, even the burn of it, and he was happy to let his questions and the world slip away.

“That’s it, _caro mio_ , move with me,” Ezio held Altaïr by the waist and stared up at him, eyes reverent and full of feverish want.

 

Altaïr was, to his own surprise, not exactly silent about his pleasure. Ezio’s request he answered with another groan and tried his best to did what he was asked.

It was not enough though, not for him, and not for Ezio. Surely, they could both find release like this, their bodies heated up enough for it, but the way Ezio held onto him, wanted him closer at any cost...

Altaïr felt much the same. It had him take action, there was no time to think and take rational decisions. Altaïr wanted him closer, and closer they would get. With a frustrated little noise, he loosened his grip only to lean over and reach for the bottle of olive oil they had opened earlier.

He poured some onto his hand, under Ezio’s questioning look which turned understanding and surprised at the same time when Altaïr’s hand found his cock once more, slathering it in oil.

Ezio wanted to say something, but Altaïr’s oily hand was faster and pressed two fingers against his lips.

“No words. I want this,  _ you, Ezio _ .”

Altaïr underlined that with a stern golden look before he sat up to get into position. It was an odd sensation, having another man’s cock pressed against him like that, but at the same time, Altaïr found pleasure in it that had been entirely unknown to him so far. He wanted Ezio, desperately enough to deal with this and whatever it entailed.

Willing himself to relax was something Altaïr was good at and so, he guided Ezio into him, eyes closed, their foreheads leaning together.

 

Desire and passion were one thing, preparation and pain another. Ezio didn’t have years of experience to boast with, but he did understand how two men could sleep together.

And how they couldn’t. Altaïr was pushing hard and he was far too tight. It took all of Ezio’s willpower to interfere, both hands cupping Altaïr’s buttocks and slowing him down.

His voice was gentle and patient, disguising his eager need for more sensation.

“There is no hurry, Altaïr. I want you, but I don’t want to hurt you. Let me touch you, just a little, and we can do this all night.”

His fingers slid in as he moved Altaïr back a little, away from his cock.

 

Altaïr had been ready to disagree, to tell Ezio that he was able to deal with pain and besides, he wanted this enough for it to work.

But the expression in hazel eyes stopped him, shut him up. Ezio was caring for him, deeply. He wasn’t intent on pushing Altaïr’s fire away, he wanted to cradle it in his hands and let it burn him slowly. Ezio’s fingers weren’t his cock, but the intrusion had Altaïr moan anyway, hands holding onto his shoulders more tightly. Had Altaïr been in a state to evaluate his choices, he would have probably scolded himself for being so impatient. At this rate, his impatience was more of a character trait than anything, something the years had hidden well, but not removed completely, only to reappear in an unlikely situation like this.

A master of body control, Altaïr tried his best to relax, but it only worked once he allowed himself to enjoy the moment which took a few more moments than he had originally planned.

“You are teaching an old man patience.” He muttered against Ezio’s forehead.

 

“I’d like to teach him something else as well.” Ezio was patience personified, but only as long as he served his own ambition. Which, in this case, was just making Altaïr feel good and soften up. Then they could move onto the more vigorous aspect of affection. Ezio didn’t know how he’d hold up during that, so he made sure that he did this first part right.

Altaïr was drenched with oil, at least down where Ezio’s fingers explored him gently. It was tough getting two fingers in, but Ezio wouldn’t rest until it was at least three.

“Be soft for me,  _ caro mio _ . Then we can have all the  _ amore _ you want and deserve.”

 

Ezio’s voice was warm honey drizzling into his ears. Altaïr focused on his words instead of on the tension in his body.

“Keep talking.” He asked, breathless, because it was working for him and when Ezio’s fingers slipped deeper into him, they found some part of Altaïr that had his knees go weak and his whole body go taut before it relaxed all over.

 

Ezio watched him, greedily drinking in his reaction, the little noises, the motions. Altaïr was art, living art, and Ezio wondered how it could have taken them so long to act on their desires. But Altaïr wanted him to talk, to distract and entice, so Ezio would.

“As a young man, I picture what you might look like, during something like this. My dreams did you no justice, Altaïr.” A little flattery would serve any lover well, and ancient Levantine assassins were not different in that regard. Ezio brushed his fingers over the good spot again, firmer this time.

 

The reaction was instant in that Altaïr moaned and jerked his hips. Ancient or not, his body was eager for pleasure and Ezio was providing it readily. His words were sweet and so was the expression in his eyes. Altaïr had a difficult time deciding between looking at his face, studying his expression and focusing on his own body that was on fire with lust.

“I was… old when I thought about you like that. It was shameful and not just because you were a man.” He confessed against Ezio’s skin.

 

“There is nothing shameful about being with a man. I know that, and now, I feel it,” Ezio rewarded Altaïr’s eager motions by moving his fingers away. Now, Altaïr’s body felt good and pliant, ready to move onto what he craved so eagerly. One hand guided Altaïr’s hip, the other held his own, stiff cock, poised and ready. Ezio leaned his head forward, nipped and kissed a path along Altaïr’s collarbone. He felt his own lust burn and blister, and he wanted to be one with Altaïr. He pushed himself in, slowly, biting back a groan.

 

“Oh.” Said Altaïr, the word tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. The surprise and confusion at the sensation was mirrored in his eyes, his hands still holding onto Ezio’s shoulders as he stared at him with cloudy eyes, attention focused elsewhere. Ezio’s fingers had been a new experience, but this was different altogether. Not only because having someone’s cock inside of him was new, but also because this was Ezio, his beloved prophet, the man he had imagined to do this with.

Altaïr’s hands moved, found Ezio’s face and held onto it as he shifted his legs and actively pushed himself down, his expression only wavering ever so slightly.

Speaking seemed impossible at the moment, but Altaïr made sure Ezio knew he had control over what he was doing. As soon as he was fully seated, he met his eyes momentarily, focused now on the task, before he rose up slowly. Altaïr made sure to move his whole body in one snake-like motion, shoulders, chest, hips rolling backwards, then forward while he held Ezio’s gaze focused on him.

 

Ezio couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to. Altaïr was truly mesmerizing, in every motion, his gaze liquid fire. Ezio had done this before, but never with such meaning, such a deep connection between himself and his lover. 

He couldn’t speak. Again, Altaïr left him tongue-tied. It was a magical ability he had, of that, Ezio was quite sure. The fire continued to flare in his stomach, but Ezio couldn’t push it into his hips. He was buried in Altaïr, wordless praise tumbling from his lips as he watched. Altaïr was going to have to do a lot of the work here, simply because he left Ezio breathless.

 

And Altaïr did, without being asked. If the fire in his stomach hadn’t been there, even then he would have moved, simply because it brought Ezio obvious pleasure. He wasn’t very good at hiding it and that only spurred Altaïr on. Ezio’s eyes wandered over him as if he was some mirage come to life and maybe he was, a little bit. Altaïr leaned forward, slowing down his movements again into a leisure roll of his hips as he kissed Ezio’s forehead and down to his nose before he went on eye-level with him, gaze soft and adoring.

“I have been plagued with dreams about this for the longest time, Ezio. No more. You are finally with me.”

His voice was a mere whisper, his lips brushing over Ezio’s with the last few words before Altaïr picked up the pace again, fingers running over Ezio’s face, providing leverage for him to rest his head in, thumb caressing his cheek.

“You always look beautiful, but flushed and speechless because of me is best.”

 

“You’re such a charmer,” Ezio chuckled breathlessly, rolling his hips up. The longing on his face was open and inviting, while the flame in his belly curled and ignited his chest. Ezio could hear his heart pound, all the way in his throat.

He was buried in Altaïr, and that fact alone was downright astounding. It felt so good, and it had been far too long since he last knew these feelings.

“I’m with you, Altaïr.”

Just as they were meant to be, his heart sang and his body echoed.

 

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

Altaïr’s arms came up and he wrapped them around Ezio’s head, cradling it against his chest. The blazing inferno in his body had turned into a steady, but bright flame due to the steady rhythm and the romantic exchange between them. He rolled his hips, holding Ezio close to him and there was no urgency behind it.

 

It was languid and beautiful. Ezio could revel in every move, every roll of his hips met enthusiastically by Altaïr. Everything felt good, from the smell of Altaïr’s skin to the tight heat of his body. Ezio couldn’t recall ever feeling so peaceful when having sex. The world fell away beyond the ruin, the setting sun the only witness to their act of passion. Never had Ezio thought he would end up like this, far away from Italia, in the arms of a man long dead, feeling at peace and complete.

His lips busied themselves with making a lasting mark on this wonderful man in his arms. He ignored the way his body ached in favor of the pleasure rolling through him. He could die happy like this, he thought, smiling into Altaïr’s chest. The pace was completely up to his young lover and Ezio would happily follow along.

 

Altaïr liked his position, Ezio’s closeness and the sweet reality that they were both here, in this moment, able to enjoy each other thoroughly.   
And he made sure to make it last.   Some time during the night that went on even past the initial sex, it occurred to Altaïr that what they were doing here wasn’t just finding release in each other’s arms, but the thing a more romantic person than him would have called love-making.

When he laid with Ezio in his arms, the man’s head on his chest and his arms around him, Altaïr’s gaze wandered through the hole in the half-broken ceiling where he could see stars on the nightly sky.

Stars that were still the same as they had been back then, and Ezio in his arms whom he still loved as he did back then. Some things changed and others did not. Altaïr would find peace with his old life and start over in this one.

Close to Ezio, for sure.


	8. Chapter 8

Cyprus was a place of memory for Altaïr, and now, it was one for Ezio too. The days spent in the ruined assassin hideout had been sweet and long, though none had the intimacy of the first night. Still, the time spent together had been dream-like, making Ezio wonder if maybe, there was more to the end of his life than he’d previously imagined.

But all dreams end, and Ezio’s health took over the decision of whether or not he could keep travelling the world with Altaïr.

He could not. At first, he thought the cough had been a mere sign of the change in weather, and the rainy nights. But it did not budge, even when he spent his time bundled up and dry. When Ezio finally relented and sought out a doctor in the harbor city, he’d been given a stern look and a firm recommendation to return home for extensive rest. His breathing was difficult whenever he walked quickly for several steps and he had to bow to his rising age. 

It was with a heavy heart that he bought a place on the next ship back to Venezia. He spent all morning in silence with Altaïr, embracing him only before he set foot on the ship that would take him back home to Italia.

“You will come see me again, won’t you?” he murmured into Altaïr’s shoulder.

 

“I will.” Altaïr promised, voice warm and full of affection, “I promise.” His arms around Ezio held him tightly until the man in charge of the passengers gave them a stern look.

Altaïr would have kissed him, but they were in public and he was not particularly fond of showing affection like this. Especially not since, well, Ezio would have to stay with these men for the upcoming days.

“Get well soon, Ezio. Rest. Enjoy life. I will join you soon.”

Altaïr sent him a soft smile and squeezed his arm. His unusually loving expression told the tales he could not speak here. He let go and took a step back, making the decision for both of them.

 

Ezio felt a sense of loss as he stepped back and onto the plank. Leaving Altaïr's side seemed like a mistake, but he didn't wish to hinder his journey. His health demanded that he return home and he had to bow to nature, no matter how much he would have liked to continue exploring what he shared with the ancient assassin.

“Peace and safety upon you, brother.”

 

-x-

 

Six months passes after Ezio's return to Italia. The time with Altaïr formed precious memories, but life marched on with no regard for nostalgia. The brotherhood sent Ezio off with regret, expressing that he would always be a legend among them. Ezio had to witness the addition of his own statue to the sanctuary beneath Tiber island. It was with some embarrassment that he noticed how adoring the eyes of all around him were. It was good that he would retire.

At first,  he considered Firenze. It was his home, after all. But without the _palazzo_ , his mother and his sister, it felt empty. Roma was too busy for his liking. The first couple of days were nothing but restless, with Ezio checking over his shoulder every few minutes. He would not find peace in this city.

Fortune favored him again in the form of Sofia. She sought him out bearing a gift that sent his heart racing and his body into renewed passion.  It was no accident on Sofia's part. Two months passed and she gave him news that would change Ezio's life and bring him to Tuscany, a freshly married man.

His thoughts had no time to wander to Altaïr, but whenever he saw an eagle circling in the sky, Ezio would spare a moment of silence in hopes that his brother and mentor was alright, wherever he was in the world.  The birth of Flavia took Ezio out of the world of assassins for good. His heart lifted in joy and at last, he thought he had peace in his grasp.

 

-x-

 

The dirt under his boots crunched, all the way up from where the merchant had dropped him off. Above him, the sky was an impeccable blue, home to only a few aberrant small clouds, the sun shining down on Tuscany in its early afternoon glory. Light wind made the slim trees rustle that were planted along the path leading up to the mansion. It tugged on his hood as well, had his robes flutter and brought cool air to a face warmed from travel and the burning heat of faraway lands.

Altaïr had set foot in Italy only a day ago and his way had led him from Roma to here, without rest.

 

Ezio had never left his mind. True, Altaïr had been busy finding out about his son’s last resting place and had bid farewell to Darim, but there were many things that reminded him of the Italian assassin and their nights spent in Cyprus.  He had mused about him, had wondered how Ezio was faring back home, if he had finally found his peace, like Altaïr had, at last.  Golden eyes wandered over the villa. From what he’d heard in Roma from the new leader of the brotherhood,  Ezio had.  Altaïr had been glad to hear about it but was eager at the same time to see it for himself. His steps carried him not to the front door, but around the building, to the garden.  He could see the vineyard beyond from here and it put a smile on scarred lips to see that this dream of Ezio’s had come true as well.

 

His approach did not go unnoticed. Seldom did people travel on foot to the villa, and the unmistakable silhouette of an assassin had Ezio tense, at first. He’d ordered the brotherhood to only contact him through Machiavelli and letters unless it was a catastrophic emergency, and a lone traveller didn’t bode well. Sofia was inside of the house, speaking of her latest wagon-load of purchased books, but Ezio could pay her no attention when his eyes clung to the stranger approaching the villa.

The bundle in his arms gave a happy gurgle, and Ezio returned to his reality. He was no longer a lion on the guard, ready for attack with muscles tense as spring.  He was a man with a family and a vineyard, and sometimes, visitors came by. Not all of them bore him ill will.

 

Especially not this one, because when Ezio saw the cut of the cloth, the shape of armor and the pride in the gait, his worried stance melted away. He knew that stranger, who was no stranger at all. But why was he here?

Ezio’s heart sang that it didn’t care, and he stepped out of the shade of the olive tree, a smile tugging at his lips. Flavia grew quiet, eyes big and round and expectant as her father carried her with him, towards the dear visitor.

Altaïr’s smile had not faded, much the opposite. It had reached his eyes when he and Ezio met half-way.

He’d seen when he’d approached already that Ezio had not wasted time in making his dreams come true and the woman at his side and the bundle in his arms were just more proof of that. He moved slowly, knowing his way around young children and he did not want to be the reason for any unhappiness in what looked like a lazy afternoon well-spent with family.

Altaïr even slid off the hood of the robes Ezio had left him, his own armour fitting him as well as they had their former owner.

“You truly did not waste time, brother.” Altaïr said, soft affection in his voice, eyes drinking in the sight of his beloved companion.

After a brief study of Ezio’s face, Altaïr’s gaze fell on the child looking at him with curiosity and its mother’s bright eyes.

 

 

Ezio wondered about the pang of guilt in his chest at Altaïr’s voice. He’d been so encouraging and genuinely happy, yet Ezio felt as if he’d betrayed some part of Altaïr a little by having a family in his absence. But that was a conversation they could have later on, when Sofia and Flavia weren’t present.

“Altaïr, it is good to see you,” Altaïr looked in good health, browned by sun and strong. A man in the prime of his life. Ezio’s heart demanded an embrace, but there was a bundle in his arms that would object to that. He presented his daughter to Altaïr once he was close enough, trusting Flavia into Altaïr’s hands without a second thought.

“I want you to meet Flavia. Isn’t she beautiful?”

 

Sofia came out of the house quietly, curious about who would visit her husband without announcement.

 

“Flavia.” Altaïr repeated, taking her into his arms with the expertise only a father could have, holding her safely, “I can see you inherited your father’s beauty.”

Sofia’s approach he had heard and was aware of, but after a year of being apart, his affection for Ezio needed some sort of outlet.

“She is wonderful.” Altaïr turned to Sofia, bowing his head a little bit to acknowledge her, “Eyes like the sky above, from her mother, no doubt.” His attention returned to Flavia, he offered her his hand, index finger gently touching a little hand that grabbed his finger eagerly. The memory of his own sons returned to him, but it no longer hurt. All he felt about Flavia was gratefulness that she no doubt contributed heavily to making her father the happiest man in Italy.

He was polite enough to give room for Ezio to introduce him formally to his wife, even though they knew each other.

 

“Sofia, it’s-”

 

“Altaïr. I remember,” she smiled at both her husband and the man holding her baby daughter. Sofia had gotten to know Altaïr on the ship from Masyaf to Venezia, in the few moments that Ezio hadn’t hogged the man’s attention all to himself. He was polite and smart and wickedly funny in a way that didn’t suit his age, but Sofia didn’t hold it against him.

“It’s nice of you to visit. I know Ezio missed you, a lot.”

 

“Sofia.” Ezio admonished, mildly embarrassed. He just barely managed to tear his soft-eyed gaze away from Altaïr and the baby.

 

“What, it’s true. I think it’s beautiful, _caro mio_. The more people that you love, the happier you are.” Sofia gently retrieved her baby from Altaïr’s careful hold.

“Now hug him like I know you’re dying to.”

 

Ezio did as his wife told him to and folded Altaïr into his arms as tightly as he could. He’d begun to notice the failing strength of his arms when they’d moved into the villa, but it didn’t hold him back now.

Altaïr returned the embrace, pouring all of his emotion into it as he leaned his head against Ezio’s and held him firmly.

“I missed you, too, brother. And I am beyond happy to find you this well and surrounded by those that love you.” He met Sofia’s gaze for a moment, finding her intelligent eyes on him. Perhaps she had not fully understood the bond between him and Ezio, but she knew it was there and acknowledged it and to Altaïr, it was humbling to be accepted like this.

His hands rubbed over Ezio’s back.

“I am happy to join them.” He muttered, quietly.

 

“You’re welcome to stay with us.” Sofia commented, Flavia perched in her arms. Ezio seemed a little tongue-tied again and it didn’t surprise his wife at all. 

“I will leave you two to your reunion. Flavia needs a nap.” Sofia excused herself from the scene.

 

Ezio still hadn’t spoken, arms tight around Altaïr and face turned into his neck, sucking in his scent and heart racing.  Those feelings on Cyprus hadn’t vanished at all, and Ezio knew it was love of a singular kind.

“I got your letter. Sofia found it,” he finally whispered, drawing back only for a moment before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Altaïr’s lips.

 

The words had Altaïr surprised, pleasantly so, but even more pleasant than that was the kiss he received for it. He returned it, gently, full of affection for the man in his arms, his eyes warm like the sun above them.

With his left hand, Altaïr cupped Ezio’s face, ran a thumb over the scar on his lips and over his cheek, studying hazel eyes.

“Then I need not tell you why I came here as fast as I could. It is so good to see you well and so happy.”

Altaïr leaned in to bring their foreheads together.

“By her reaction, I would guess Sofia had a careful read before she handed it to you?”

Ezio’s expression that followed had Altaïr chuckle and kiss him again, capturing his lips with his own in another showing of deep care for the man.

“You are truly lucky to have found a woman like that.”

 

“I am. And I am beyond lucky that you returned to me.” Ezio meant both returns, the one from the grave, and the one right now. He couldn’t imagine his life any more sweet. He also couldn’t have imagined having such a life, with peace and joy and love. Sometimes, Ezio wondered if he deserved any of it, but Sofia was always quick to remind him that he did. He loved that woman, and he loved this man in his arms. Sofia was a warm summer’s breeze, and Altaïr was the sun itself.

“Are you here to stay?” that was his only worry, and a valid one at that, “Is your journey over?”

 

The question had Altaïr’s hand wander to Ezio’s shoulder. He allowed himself a small pause, until he could not stand Ezio’s worry anymore and relieved him of it.

“I have found what I was looking for.”

Altaïr meant it. During his journey, especially after he had found what he believed to be Darim’s grave, he had thought about what he wanted to do with this chance, this new life. Perhaps it was the wrong decision or maybe it was what he had been sent back for, he would probably never find out, but Altaïr had decided that he would make this life count and change his priorities.

A lifetime spent on a lifetime’s work was enough of what anyone could expect. He had seen the brotherhoods of  Italy, Greece, had been to Spain and Egypt and in Damascus. They were all doing well, re-establishing themselves, often inspired by Ezio’s doing.

He did not need to spend more time teaching, not now. Perhaps he could spend some time with Ezio, however long they had together.

“If you would have me, I would stay with you as long as you want me to,  _ habibi. _ ”

 

Ezio said nothing for a long moment, forehead resting on Altaïr’s, his eyes searching the very soul of the other, and finding everything he needed, right there, at his disposal. The warmth in their gazes could have unfrozen winter itself.

“I would have you any day, any time, any where,” he couldn’t help himself, his age had not cured him of his proclivity for flirtatious remarks, even in a situation that screamed for heartfelt confessions. Ezio relented after just a breath.

“ _ Ti amo profondamente _ , Altaïr. Stay with me. Let us enjoy a life we’ve both deserved.”

 

Altaïr’s smile just would not fade, not with the man he loved being so much himself it ached sweetly in his heart.

“I will take you up on that.”  The comment had both of them chuckle as it remained ambiguous for both of them to be amused about.

Their lips found each other easily for another kiss.

“You promised to make wine with me. I would take you up on that, too.”

 

“Wine, _amore_ , I will make anything you want.” Ezio sighed with content. Altaïr had been missing from his peaceful little existence, but now he was here, and they were what they always should have been; lovers, across time, against the impossible odds. 

 

-x-

 

It was bliss.

 

Ezio had not known happiness for thirty years of his life, but now, he lived it, every day, surrounded by people he loved, that loved him deeply. The days blurred together as the family he’d made found its harmony. Sofia was spectacular, accepting her husband’s desires without compromise. She told Ezio and Altaïr both, in one night, that this was the way she’d thought it to be after reading Altaïr’s letter. She also apologized on intruding on their intimacy by reading it without permission, but the sweet words inked there had told her much about Ezio and the man he irrefutably loved.

Once, Ezio asked her how she could accept it, and her answer had been wise beyond her years. She knew some of Ezio’s heart belonged to her, and some of it to Altaïr. As long as he never chose one over the other, she could be happy, sharing her husband with another. Ezio had been speechless and breathless, thanking her and professing that she had a profound role in keeping him alive and well. She’d smiled, and made a suggestion that only proved why she was such a good spouse to him. Altaïr had found his way into their bed on several occasions, and Ezio wondered if one man could die of happiness when it did happen.

For the most part, however, Altaïr and Sofia both claimed their time with Ezio. A young pair of hands to help around the villa and the vineyard also didn’t go unappreciated, and Altaïr learned much of what it took to make wine and live in beautiful Tuscany.

 

Ezio’s health wavered, however happy he turned out to be. Some days, he had to stay in bed and rest. Sofia, Altaïr, Flavia and even tiny Marcello would come in turns to spend time with him, to read or talk or in Altaïr’s case, just lay at his side and caress him. Ezio improved, and was back on his feet in no time.

A year passed. Two, three, four. Ezio felt his body protest more and more as he raced towards a proud age, but he found it difficult to make adjustments. A lifetime of injury and strain began to make itself known, most notably his lungs. Altaïr and Sofia teamed up into a formidable force that denied him the right to do hard labor around the vineyard, and he often found himself relegated to spending time with his children instead, with his wife earning their living from her book trade and Altaïr doing what only a young, fit man could.

It was bliss. It was the closest thing to heaven Ezio could picture.

 

Of course it had to end.


	9. Chapter 9

The summer breeze outside had been quick to make both Auditore children sleep and even Sofia and Ezio fell asleep rather fast. Altaïr, however, was restless that night, he laid in bed and when sleep took him, it only did for what felt like a few moments.

When he woke to the sound of wood rattling downstairs, even if it was only briefly, Altaïr’s body protested and urged him to lay back down to get some more rest.

Years living in peace had made him complacent, a little, but they had also schooled his senses for what noises the house made on its own in what weather. And which ones it did not.

Wearing his bracers to bed was a habit both Ezio and Sofia found odd, the latter a bit more, but Altaïr would not do it differently.

It was dark in the bedroom, night having claimed all light but that of the half moon outside, sending silver rays in through the window.

Altaïr got up on quiet feet and listened carefully.

 

Another small squeak downstairs, the traitorous angle of the front door giving away that it had definitely been opened.

Only dressed in a loose white linen shirt that went to his knees and the bracers, Altaïr snuck out of the bedroom and onto the corridor upstairs with the balcony-like walkway above the entrance hall and the double-stairs down towards the entrance.

Ducked, he glanced around the corner only to find confirmed what he had dreaded. His suspicion became firm knowledge when his second sight painted all five figures an alarming red, more of them outside.

There was not much time to think as some of the men already took the stairs upwards, swords and daggers at the ready, two of them taking the turn towards the children’s rooms.

From then on, it all turned instinct for Altaïr.

 

He moved in the shadow of the vases and chests put up along the railing upstairs to get to the first ones upstairs. Altaïr waited until they had passed the corner and were out of sight before they both found themselves dead by a blade through the back of the neck.

As quietly as possible, he caught both of them before they could fall over loudly and armed himself with dagger and sword. Hushed voices could be heard downstairs and Altaïr snuck back towards them.

In the middle of the open corridor above the entrance hall, Altaïr had the chance for a glance between pillars at the men downstairs, four now, as one had obviously come in from outside. They were no doubt waiting for the men scouting upstairs, so he had to be fast and decisive and strike first.

It came as easy to Altaïr as breathing. When one of the men moved even one step further, into Altaïr’s range, he found himself bolting over the railing, jumping on the man, hidden blade in his neck before he had even reached the ground.

Hell broke loose, the men were yelling at each other and Altaïr, but he did not hear them. He dashed through them and threw the door shut only to ram the dagger into the lock to keep the men outside out for as long as possible.

Sword already drawn, Altaïr parried the first few hefty blows before his reflexes kicked in, as ready as they had been four hundred years ago. As if he had never done something else, Altaïr strategically took them apart with a lightness to his step about it that must look like child’s play from an outsider’s view.

Three of the men were down, blood splattered across Altaïr’s white shirt, on his hands and face.

Somewhere, a door had opened, but Altaïr’s focus was on the last man trying to make it upstairs, fleeing, but in the wrong direction.

With deadly precision, Altaïr threw the dagger at the man’s head who toppled over on the upper level of the house.

 

The first sound of a body crashing to the floor had Ezio jolt out of bed. Sofia only woke when the screaming began, and her husband was already halfway out of the door in his breeches, pulling the bracer from the stand where it had been gathering dust.

Ezio’s first instinct had him check on the situation and his children. He saw the door to Altaïr’s bedroom stand wide open and knew that his lover had already leapt into action. The second glance revealed Flavia and Marcello’s room undisturbed, although Sofia already hastened toward it to make sure.

Downstairs was carnage. Altaïr was amidst a plethora of bodies, some living, some in the throes of death, all of them bloody. Someone had come to attack Ezio and his family and he should have known it would come eventually.

 

Once upon a time, Ezio would have vaulted over the second-floor railing and jumped into the fray. But he was not that limber young man anymore, and he had to improvise something else. He disappeared into Altaïr’s bedroom for a second, only to fetch his throwing knives.

From his high vantage point, it wasn’t too difficult to pick out which man would move which way. One of them was dangerously close to catching Altaïr in the back, but he’d find himself with a knife in his neck, dropping like a sack of wet meat.

“Altaïr!” Ezio called out, knife in hand. Altaïr would know to duck and sure enough he did. The two men behind him lost their eyes to Ezio’s aim.

A glance into his second sight revealed more red outside, and three blue shapes in the children’s room. Sofia would know to stay put and barricade the door. Ezio came down the stairs when the last man inside of his house was dead at Altaïr’s hands.

“How many? Did they say anything?” he wheezed, a little winded from the rude awakening.

 

Altaïr’s heart rate was elevated, but other than that, he was entirely calm at the massacre around him.

He met Ezio’s eyes.

“There are two more outside. “ he knelt down to turn one of the men, hand digging in the man’s armour before he tore something off and held the pendant up.

“Templars. I will invite them inside, perhaps we can learn more.”

He turned, pulled the dagger out of the entrance and left for the side door. A minute later, there was some clamouring outside and then silence, some rustling, before Altaïr pushed the door open, one of the men in his grasp, dagger pressed to his skin.

Altaïr’s eyes sought Ezio’s, he was the owner of this house and apparently the one they were after, he had the honour of interrogation.

 

Ezio was going to have to remove all of these bodies and scrub the floors and walls before his children could even step into this room, but those were minor concerns for later when he had an interrogation to perform.

“Not here,” he gestured for Altaïr to drag the man into the barn, which would muffle any screaming about to happen.

Once they’d relocated there, Ezio wasted no time in glaring the man down.

“How did you find me?”

 

The Templar spat on the ground, narrowly missing Ezio. He growled something too low for Ezio to hear, but he was quite sure it wasn’t a compliment on his villa.

“Altaïr, could you give him some incentive? He doesn’t seem chatty.”

 

Altaïr had learned long ago that simple threat of death was often not enough to make people speak. They had to feel pain to loosen their tongue. He replaced the dagger at the man’s throat with his hidden blade and took the dagger elsewhere, pushing it very slowly into his thigh, aiming inwards. The man accepted his fate rather quickly after wailing like a child, understanding that it would only get worse from here on out.

 

"Assassin in Roma… Caught one of your filthy kind. Kept his mouth shut until we brought in his wife and child, too.”

 

Altaïr pushed the blade deeper, face unmoving, but anger burning in his eyes.  This was what made Templars different from assassins. They had no creed, no honour, but their god and lies built upon him.

“Then he told us everything. That you’re here, Ezio Auditore. Murderer. This won’t be the first attempt on your life, others will follow. We know now. And we know you are keeping It.”

_ It _ could only be one thing, and if the damned thing hadn’t given Ezio something great in the form of Altaïr, he’d be sorely tempted to find out if a piece of Eden was indestructible. The templar soldier didn’t have to say anything more, Ezio had heard enough.

He took Altaïr’s wrist and pushed it down, ignoring the wet, hot splatter of blood on his chest as the Templar gurgled and died.

“ _ Recquiescat in pace, stronzo. _ ” he muttered wiping some blood off of himself. He sighed deeply, then held onto one of the beams supporting the barn. He didn’t realize how tense he’d been during all of this, but it  _ had  _ been an attempt of his life.

“ _ Merda _ . This, again. Will it never end?”

 

Altaïr laid the body down, wiping his hand on the man’s robe and straightened back up, his gaze serious.

The Apple. Of course, what else. That damned thing had to ruin everything, it gave them five years of peace and now this. Ezio looked tired, exhausted already. Anger curled inside of Altaïr’s chest as easily as if its ember had always been there, glowing, until it could reignite again.

He reached for Ezio, grabbed his arm, held onto it.

“I will make it so. You will not have to busy yourself with it, nor will you hear of it. I promise.”

Ezio looked like he was going to disagree, but Altaïr’s fingers came up to press against his lips to shush him.

“Look at me. I tried to go without bloodshed and here I stand, it seeks me out and I cannot withstand it. You have earned your rest. If anything, this is my part to play.”

 

“What are you talking about, part to play? We left all of this behind us, Altaïr. Going back to the Order is not going to stop any of this.” Ezio was beyond reluctant to let Altaïr go on this premise, because he knew exactly what it meant. Altaïr would kill everyone involved, all the way to the top. And that might give them another couple of years of peace, but truly, there was no end-all be-all solution. 

But what good would denying the danger of the truth do? Hiding away would give them no peace for any amount of time.

Ezio held onto his lover, too aware of his own fragility. Had he been able, he would have joined Altaïr on this quest for vengeance, but he could not. He pulled the blood-spattered man to himself.

“I cannot stop you, so let them know your fury,  _ amore.  _ Fly back to me when it is done.”

 

He was right and both of them knew that. Altaïr helped with the clean-up that took the better part of the night.

They worked in silence, mostly because the children were asleep again after Flavia had demanded to see both Ezio and Altaïr before she went back to bed. The sun was about to rise on the horizon when they were both in the bathroom, getting undressed to wash away blood and dirt from the nightly incident.

It had something of a farewell ritual, really, when Altaïr dipped the sponge in lukewarm water they had leftover from the cleaning earlier and raised it to Ezio’s bare skin.

He ran it over his shoulder and down his arm, holding his hand gently before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Ezio’s shoulder.

  
  


Ezio had started to grow a dislike for his body, but it was something he kept close to the vest, telling neither Sofia or Altaïr about it. He didn’t like that his muscles were becoming weaker, and his skin drier; he didn’t like the grey-white of his beard and hair, or the tiredness in his limbs that hounded him day and night.

When he was with Altaïr like this, he liked to cover himself quickly in the bathtub. Then, he could allow the indulgences of his lover’s attention.

But right now, they worked with cold water drawn from the well, barely heated over the fire, not a tub full of soapy suds.

Ezio watched the sponge turn rosy as Altaïr ran it over him and dropped it back into the bowl.

He looked at his lover in the mirror and sighed.

“ _Tesoro_ , I must tell you more. Things I didn’t consider that you had to know, but if you are to return to the shadows, you cannot be without knowing.”

 

Altaïr squeezed the sponge and let it soak up water again before he continued the process.

To him, Ezio’s beauty did not fade, it just changed with time. Perhaps it was the way of seeing it like only someone that had once been old would, but he did not give it much thought.

Instead, he cleaned the blood off of Ezio, only looking up at him from where he was placing small kisses along the line of his shoulder when he spoke, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“Let me hear them then.”

He had no qualms with stepping closer to Ezio, naked as they both were, and wrapping his arms around him, hands running over warm skin as he held him closely.

Altaïr knew he would be gone for a while and their parting in Cyprus had taught him about how farewells were best handled.

 

Ezio leaned back against him, grateful as ever that Altaïr was a quiet, accepting sort of lover who was quick-witted and understood what it meant to be an assassin. Or rather, to have been one.

“There are pieces of Eden in Italia. And I did not have the foresight to keep one as close to me as you have. The only apple I ever possessed is under the Vatican, in a vault you can only access with second sight.”

The old master assassin sighed, tilting his head so he could press a tired kiss to Altaïr’s jawline.

“It is what the Templars are after. They think I possess it. So whoever is sending these men does not know about the vault. See to it that they do not find out that they’re much closer than they believe.”

 

Altaïr’s eyes took in Ezio’s expression, studied it carefully. His lover was tired, understandably so. Most probably because he felt like he could not fight this war forever and it was true. Altaïr knew what that felt like, he had experienced it himself in the last few years of his life and even though he had still gone on until the day he died, it did not mean that he was not aware of what Ezio felt like.

“I understand. You do not have to worry.”

He leaned in to kiss the back of Ezio’s neck, breathing in his scent.

“I will take care of it and return to you.”

  
  


“You must,” Ezio insisted, leaning into Altaïr’s embrace, closing his eyes and breathing in. It was too deeply, however, because his lungs protested immediately and Ezio had to lean forward to cough into his hand. 

He regretted ruining the sweet moment, but the ailments of his body did not have any compulsion to respect his personal preferences.

“ _Scusi, amore_. I am serious. Return to me, or I will come find you.”

 

Altaïr let go off him immediately to allow him to breathe freely. Ezio’s cough never quite disappeared, it had good days and bad days, but it was never quite gone. It hurt to see his beloved suffer, but time ticked by and Ezio was not a young man anymore.  Which was why time was of the essence. Altaïr wanted to spend as much time with the man as possible, before, one day, the inevitable would happen.

With a touch to his shoulder he had Ezio turn, only to frame his face with his hands, like he often did to emphasize his words.

“I promise, _ habibi _ , I will.”

 

-x-

 

Altaïr left by noon, and it would be the last of his lover that Ezio saw for some time.

He told Sofia in vague terms what Altaïr had set out to do and found understanding from his wife. They both agreed to tell the children nothing of the attack or the consequences. They were too young to understand, and Ezio had no intention of bringing them into the world he supposedly left behind.

Life in the villa returned to normal, only interrupted by a visit from Machiavelli, who seemed to know that a vengeful soul was tearing the Templars apart. Ezio told him little, having never dispensed the knowledge of Altaïr’s resurrection to the Order. They didn’t need to know, and Altaïr deserved the freedom to choose what he did. Ezio’s reputation gave him the connections and information he’d need.

Machiavelli left none the wiser and Ezio tended to his harvest, wondering when Altaïr would return to him.

 

-x-

 

Altaïr’s quest for vengeance took him to Sicily, across Italy up to the Alps and back to Rome.

He really had not expected anything else, knowing full well what it meant to be sent on a mission of these proportions. Once he had figured out his targets, it was like an odd deja-vu of his quest for redemption back in his days. He even had been of a similar body age, and although Palermo was not the busy streets of Damascus and Rome was no Jerusalem, Altaïr was oddly caught between past and present, eliminating templars involved in the Auditore case.

His legend traveled quickly. The parts of the brotherhood he passed had quickly gotten wind of a lone eagle hunting the skies above them and whenever Altaïr heard of that metaphor, it made him smile to himself.

Masyaf might be a ruin, but its eagle still soared.

Now and then, his mind had time to return to Ezio and his family, to wonder about how they were doing. Memories shared with his beloved returned to Altaïr whenever he had a moment to spare. Had it been the desire for redemption back then, it was now the urge to see Ezio again, to come home.

Yes, home, because that was what he connected not just to the villa somewhere in Tuscany and the family living inside of it, but to Ezio himself.

Eleven months passed until his blade took the last man’s life, a cardinal in Rome, blood staining his red robes dark as Altaïr was already on the way back home.

 

-x-

 

A scarce year had passed without Altaïr at the villa, and his return was a gift for the entire family. Ezio was, of course, the happiest to see his lover return, but the children and Sofia were equally glad to see him come home. He’d grown to be part of the family, intentionally or not.

Altaïr’s vengeance had paid its dues. No Templar ever set foot in the villa’s grounds again, no matter how often Ezio looked over his shoulder for signs of enemies. Altaïr brought peace and calm back to the family, who folded him back into their midst with open arms and open hearts.

Ezio knew happiness once more, and he knew content. He could not have asked for a better life, and he did not regret what he’d had to give in order to make this dream a reality. He’d done enough.


	10. Chapter 10

“Just a quick trip to the market. Sofia promised not to buy books.”

 

“I promised not to buy  _ only  _ books, _tesoro_.” Sofia corrected as she helped her husband to the bench at the side of the busy plaza. Marcello and Flavia were already eyeing the bright wares offered here, eager to grab things and show them to Sofia and convince her to buy them.

Ezio sat down with a relieved sigh. Travelling in the carriage for any amount of time had become arduous and difficult for him, but he refused to miss out on these small family outings to Firenze. It was his home, and he did like to see it from time to time.

“We’ll be right over there, alright?” Sofia kissed Ezio’s forehead and took Flavia by the hand, who smiled brightly at her father and waved to Altaïr as she followed her mother and brother.

During the past two years, Sofia and Altaïr had come to the silent agreement that one of them always had to be at Ezio’s side.

He had gradually gotten weaker, the cough growing stronger over time and neither of them wanted to know him out of sight.

 

Their gazes briefly met and Altaïr nodded at her, very lightly, aware that he was to watch over his ageing lover.

He took his seat next to Ezio on the bench, encouraging him to lean against him with a light touch to his arm.

Altaïr waved back at Flavia and watched her make her way over to her mother.

“A strong young girl you raised.” He commented softly, enjoying the momentary quiet he had with Ezio.

 

“I cannot take all the credit. I had help.”

Ezio leaned on Altaïr, grateful for the company. On his bad days, he complained about being constantly accompanied like some decrepit, but here and now, it was just comforting. He watched Flavia and her mother, and felt nothing but pure joy at knowing he’d created something so marvelous. His life’s work was not just bloodshed. He’d done something simple and good too, like raising a family. He felt loved, he truly did.

His heart was so content that it was ready to burst out of his chest. 

Actually, his heart kind of...hurt. It was so full, pounding his ribcage so hard that he felt the cough come on again. One of his hands grasped for Altaïr’s on instinct, if only so he wouldn’t fall or lose his balance as the other came to cover his mouth. The cough came, shaking him for a moment or two, but the sharp sting of his heart...

Ezio tried to breathe, but it was shallow, his gaze shook away from Flavia and Sofia and to Altaïr. He couldn’t speak, and he didn’t need to.

He just didn’t expect it so soon, so quickly. His heart twinged harder, full of love, laced with pain. Ezio tried to focus on Altaïr’s face, but found it swimming out of vision.

 

Altaïr had been smiling to himself at the comment. He knew how they worked as a family and that both Sofia and Ezio as well as the children appreciated his contribution. When Ezio squeezed his hand, unexpectedly hard and with an alarming urgency behind it, Altaïr immediately turned towards him. The coughing was normal, but the following breath Ezio took made Altaïr’s sharp mind instantly jump to the right conclusion.

This was it, the day they had rarely spoken about, but that had loomed above their idyllic past years.

Coldness crept into Altaïr’s heart, fear and desperation battled gentle love and understanding in his eyes. Who better than him understood what a dying man needed?

Altaïr had given this situation some thought, he had remembered his own death and how his last few seconds had been dedicated to the people he loved, his family, even the stranger in the Apple…

The stranger who had not been a stranger anymore for a long time now and whose hand’s grip got weaker on Altaïr’s hand like he was slipping away.

Ezio, he had decided this a while ago, would not leave him seeing panic or pain on his face. Ezio would see how much Altaïr loved him, he would feel that he was not alone, not even on this very last path of his.

Hazel eyes had lost their focus, but Altaïr felt he was not yet gone. He reached for Ezio’s cheek, gently cradling it in his hand, before he spoke, softly,

“My heart soars with yours, _ habibi _ . Always.”

 

Altaïr’s voice was the last thing Ezio could hear, the last thing he could grasp at. His eyes closed, no longer seeing the world. His hand was caught between Altaïr’s fingers, loving and gentle as Ezio smiled, leaning on his lover’s shoulder as he had done before. This was alright. He’d done enough. He’d seen and felt enough. He’d even had happiness and love in a manner that exceeded the wildest dreams of many men and women. Ezio was grateful for his life, but it had come to an end.

He wanted to speak, but his lips formed words without his voice. One last confession of love for Altaïr, that’s what he’d wanted to say, but it never crossed his lips. Altaïr would know, wouldn’t he, he would know that he meant the world to his old lover. That he’d been one of the two reasons that Ezio kept breathing and living for as long as he had. Altaïr would know, just as Ezio knew, that neither of them had ever truly walked alone. And just as Ezio had witnessed Altaïr’s last moments in his memories, Altaïr was here now to hold him through his.

On a bright spring morning, in a lively plaza in Firenze, Ezio left life behind, slipping away to a dark oblivion that he could not keep at bay any longer. It was a peaceful death, but death nonetheless as his body stilled against Altaïr and his troubled heart came to rest.

 

When it happened, Altaïr knew it straight away and yet, he sat there like a statue, holding Ezio close to himself, not letting go off him.

Ezio was gone, he could feel it. The cold in his chest spread into his limbs quickly and for a moment, he saw his vision confirmed. He was bound to Ezio, Ezio had awakened him from the dead and with his death, Altaïr would perish as well.

It had been a comfort to him to think like that, to hope and dream that he would not have to feel the pain from another loss.

But none of it happened, not even after he’d let the cold spread. Turned out it was his own heart that bled ice into his veins, leaving him with the love of his life dead in his arms, but it still beat on despite the fact.

Altaïr’s face was wet, he realised, tears he could not hold back making their way down his cheeks.

“Ezio…” Altaïr whispered hoarsely, and it was a weak plea in an empty world, unheard, unanswered.  A sob tore through him and he muffled it by pressing his face into Ezio’s grey hair.

 

Gone, Ezio was gone. Altaïr had followed him his whole life, from the first breath he took to his journey to Masyaf, Altaïr had seen it all. He had been given the chance to really follow him with his new life. Only for him to be ripped away from him in the end, for good, no path for him to follow, no artifact to observe him.

Sofia and Flavia had moved over at some point, both in shock and horror. Flavia cried and it had Altaïr wake from his stupor. He began functioning, feeling overwhelmed with loss from the inside.   He had loved Adha, had loved Maria, both of them filled him with the need for vengeance. But Ezio? Who was there to blame it on?

 

Ezio’s body, he carried to the carriage and sat him down, Sofia holding his head and stroking him, tears running down her cheeks. Altaïr did not comfort her, could not. The only thing he could do was hold Flavia in his arms and let her cry into his chest as she understood her father was gone while he drove the carriage home. Once back in the villa, Altaïr brought Ezio’s body to the cellar where he sat for hours with him, holding his hand, feeling it grow stiff over time.

Where Adha’s and Maria’s deaths had made his heart bleed, Ezio’s stabbed it to death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> q.q


	11. Chapter 11

Sorrow and silence hung over the villa. Sofia had held her husband’s body in her arms on the carriage ride home, crying soundlessly, whispering all the things Ezio deserved to hear, and now never would, again. She had no thought other than her grief, and she left what needed to be done to Altaïr. 

Marcello had been dropped off at his tutor before the trip to the market, and he would have to be told, but Sofia felt paralyzed, not strong enough to understand and accept that Ezio, the sun in their lives, the center of the family, was gone. Just like that. 

Flavia had been ushered outside so that the body could be laid to rest, at least for the moment, until Sofia decided what to do.

 

She’d gone to the swing in the apple tree that her father had built for her just last summer, but there was no laughter and swinging and hugs there now. Only the wind, and it blew at her like a cold winter storm. She picked some flowers for her mother, who always liked soft, white blossoms. Tulips were her favorite, but it wasn’t the right time of the year.

Flavia looked for her mother, and found her sobbing by the fireplace, inconsolable. She did not dare give her the flowers and strewed them into the grass.  Flavia had returned outside, checked the vines, but her father wasn’t hiding there, either. She remembered the marketplace, but she could not comprehend. Papa could not be gone, just like that.

She spent more time by the apple tree, until she found a ripening fruit to pluck. She used to bring Altaïr, the man that lived upstairs, fruits now and then, and he, in exchange, would tell her a story, or teach her how to care for the horses.

He wasn’t upstairs now.

Flavia searched the house, avoiding her mother’s awful cries. She didn’t like it when mama cried. A door was open, and cool, stone stairs lead to the cellar, where Flavia heard a soft, deep voice. Altaïr sometimes talked to papa in that voice, so Flavia followed it.

“ _Zio_?” she called out, finding another door, this one almost closed.

 

Altaïr heard her footsteps before she said anything.

It did not stop him from muttering sweet confessions of love in both Italian and Arabic as he stroked Ezio’s arm and caressed his face. Only when Flavia called for her ‘uncle’, his mind finally accepted the urgency of the situation and he got up, meeting her outside on the corridor, closing the door behind him.

He could hear Sofia cry upstairs and saw the deep, deep sorrow and question in Flavia’s bright eyes. It broke his heart all over again and he quickly leaned down, offering his arms.

“I’m here.” Altaïr brought out, his voice quiet and hoarse, but soft, for Ezio’s beloved child.

“What is it,  _ namrah _ ?” He asked once she had let him pick her up.

 

Flavia clung to him without hesitation. This man had been around ever since she could remember, and he was as dear to her as her parents. She snuggled into his neck, saying nothing for a long while, feeling that he needed her as much as she needed him right now.

Something was deeply wrong and she knew that her father had not been sleeping, even if no one told her what else could have happened to him.

After a long, quiet moment, she found her voice again.

“ _Zio_ , papa didn’t eat anything today. Will you give him this?” she dug in the pocket of her dress and produced the red apple from the tree outside, “I got it for him, but I can’t find him. Will you give it to him?”

 

Flavia was a gift, truly. Altaïr held her against him until she spoke again, feeling calmed simply by holding his beloved’s living legacy in his arms.

Her words pierced his heart, her worry clear in his eyes. She did not understand the full scope of what had happened to her father, but she noticed there was something wrong that she tried to fix in her own way.

And _how_ she fixed it.

Altaïr stared at the apple and his mind made the connection.

 

The Apple.

 

He looked at her, the grief in his eyes exchanging for determination as he took the offered apple gently from her hand and in his own.

“I will give him this,  _ namrah _ , I will find him and when I do, he will know you climbed to the top of the apple tree, all on your own.”

 

-x-

 

Altaïr left a mere two hours later, dressed in his armour and the accompanying robes Ezio had worn when he’d been younger, armed to the teeth, mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

He was not only armed with various weapons, but also held a map he’d procured from Ezio’s study upstairs. Altaïr had never been to the Vatican, at least not in person, but he’d snuck in behind Ezio in the Apple plenty of times and he now also had the map. It had to do.

 

Sofia had been after him once she’d realised he was doing something, bustling around, collecting and searching things, readying the horses outside. She cursed him when he rode off and he ignored the little cut in his heart from it as he left Tuscany behind, travelling as fast as he could.

Perhaps he had the time, perhaps he did not, but every second not on the road felt wasted.

Deep in his heart, Altaïr knew he was holding on to a fickle thing, a miracle, a hope that was bound to be disappointed. But he would forever regret if he did not at least try.

It did, however, give him strength, allowed him to run faster, jump higher, tear through guards that got in his way until he finally reached what Ezio had told him about, the secret chamber under the Vatican, the vault only to be seen with the Second Sight both of them had.

 

When he finally held the Apple in hand, Altaïr felt it hum in his grasp as if it understood why he was here.

He would have been fascinated if it wasn’t this urgent, there was time later to ponder the greater cause behind it, but it renewed his hope and chased away his doubts.

 

-x-

 

Three weeks later, Altaïr returned to the villa. The poor horse was foaming at the mouth and was glad for the nearby water, but Altaïr wasted no time. He took the back door, knowing full well it was usually open and stormed into the cellar, hand fumbling for the Apple in his pocket.

There was no time to say hello and explain things, Altaïr was so, so close to having him back, his beloved Ezio…

The door opened, revealing an empty room. Altaïr stared, disbelieving, for a moment before he took the stairs back up, making it to the entrance hall before he called, loudly,

“ _ Where is he _ ?!”

 

Altaïr didn’t seem to have taken the time to notice the black drapery and general air of quiet in the villa. It was late at night, and the fireplace was lit, Sofia in an armchair with a book, alone. She startled when footsteps came running down the hallway, and she almost leapt out of her seat when Altaïr returned, loudly.

“Why did you return,  _ figlio puttana _ ?” she spat, in anger and grief. Altaïr had been gone, the moment Ezio turned cold, and left Sofia to pick up the pieces. She alone had to console the children and give word to the assassin order. She alone had to witness Claudia Auditore arrive at the villa and sob over her brother’s body. She alone had to deal with burying her husband appropriately and finding a way to carry on.

When she needed him, her husband’s lover had left the family behind, without a single word of explanation. And now, he barged back into their lives like a thunderstorm?

She would not have it.

“Leave this house, do not wake my children!”

 

Altaïr had given little thought to what he had done to Ezio’s family, how he had left them behind without a word of notice. In another situation, he would have understood. If his heart had not been racing and his mind was somewhere else, he would have apologised to Sofia.

But right now, even though she was angry at him and rightfully so, a being filled with wrath and grief, Altaïr could not spare time for her.

“Where is Ezio? Where did you put his body?”

He just needed this one piece of information, just the one and he would be gone again, gone to see if what his heart was in flames for with hope would become true.

 

Sofia opened her mouth, possibly to yell at him again, and she was right to do so, but a bright golden light shining from Altaïr’s hand interrupted her, the artifact sending one pulse of light through the house.

As if it knew its purpose in this place.

Altaïr’s voice became more urgent, pleading even.

“Please, Sofia, I will leave and never return, but tell me where he is.”

 

“He is gone, why can’t you let me forget that?” Sofia’s voice cracked a little, and the golden light threw off her anger, but she was not ready to forgive Altaïr for his abandonment. The children had been devastated by his absence, both of them absurdly fond of the man their father had brought into the house.

“Leave him be. Leave my family be.”

 

“Papa’s in the dark place, _zio_.” a tiny voice spoke up from the top of the staircase. Flavia held onto the railing, tired eyes wide.

 

“Flavia, _tesoro_ , go back to bed.”

 

Altaïr turned, golden eyes lighting up with renewed hope as he looked up to Flavia.

The dark place… He remembered it, she had been afraid of the crypt where Maria Auditore had been buried a long time ago. She had held onto him and told him she was afraid of the dark.

He bowed his head in front of her, what a treasure indeed.

“My gratitude,  _ namrah. _ I will keep my promise.”

A moment later, he was gone already, leaving a speechless Sofia behind and a sleepless Flavia, if only to get another horse from the stables that he urged on, without saddle, towards Firenze.

 

-x-

 

On the whole way, the Apple shone brightly, illuminating Altaïr’s wild ride through the night.

The crypt was not as pompous as he had it in mind, but fresher marks at the iron door and the ivy around the entrance let him know that people had been here recently. For a burial, of course. Still, the Apple lit his way, but when he took the steps into the dark, it started pulsing, sending out blinding harsh light before it suddenly laid still, innocent in his hand.

Cold fear spurned him on, the Apple forgotten back in his pocket as he found the stone grave that read Ezio’s name on it.

Altaïr was frantic, his fingers trembling as he reached for the heavy stone plate on top of it. His heart was in his throat, leaping forward in heavy bounces, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

 

With all of his strength, his fingers clawed into the stone and he pushed. For a terrifying moment, it did not budge and Altaïr doubled his efforts until finally, it did.

 

The darkness all around him was not a comfort as the air grew short. Ezio saw nothing, felt nothing, other than cold, hard stone beneath him. It was so dark, and cold...was this his afterlife? Was this what Altaïr had seen when he’d closed his eyes for a little rest?

But if he was dead, why did it feel like he was dying again?

His throat closed and Ezio closed his eyes. There was nothing to see, anyway, what was the sense in looking? Perhaps he was being judged by a god he lost faith in. Perhaps this was his punishment for a lifetime of killing. To be on the brink of death for an eternity, to suffer in the way his targets never had.

It was almost over, he could feel it. The same, stinging pain in his lungs, his heart hammering away in his chest. Again. He would feel it, slowly seep out of him. What an unfit punishment for a man who had tried to do good, to do the best he could. If only he could see his family, his love, one more time...

 

Then, suddenly, something was bright behind his eyelids. Ezio opened one, carefully, and noticed the fresh air stream into his nose. He opened his mouth to gulp it in, and it was real. He couldn’t see in the light for a long moment, but he lunged upwards when the roof of whatever he was in began to move.

He almost choked on the air itself.

 

The stone plate fell off and landed on the stone floor, probably broke in the process.

Altaïr did not care. All he could do was stare as his heart stopped and he took in what was before him. Sitting in what was doubtlessly Ezio’s grave was a young man with dark hair down to his broad shoulders, in soddy burial clothes, coughing for his life.

Altaïr was mesmerised, stunned. He had seen Ezio before, like this, but the visions in the Apple had not made his heart kickstart and then melt all over. It really was him. His hopes, his dreams, his every thought since the day he left life behind, it was all real.

“ _ Habibi. _ ” He brought out, breathless, love laced his voice thickly. Ezio turned his head, looked at him with hazel eyes and for a fearful second, Altaïr thought he would not remember him.

 

For a startling moment, Ezio’s mind scrambled. What was this dark place, with stone walls? A prison? A crypt? It took seconds for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, his fears fell away from him. His gaze softened and he reached forward, beckoning the frozen, beloved face of Altaïr closer. He had no idea what he looked like, and he did not notice the lack of papery skin on his hand. His voice was soft as butter in the sunshine.

“ _ Cuore mio _ .”

 

Altaïr’s eyes started burning and his sight swam as he witnessed Ezio remembering him. Warmth bloomed in his chest, spread into every limb, chasing away the cold fear and anxiety from before.

He pulled Ezio into an embrace, pressed him tightly against him, ignoring the rotting robes. He was speechless, at a loss, just pushed his face against Ezio’s neck, breathing in. The Apple, Ezio’s, was back in his pocket and despite the things the artifact had ruined, it had now given Altaïr a tribute he would forever cherish. The tears fell from his eyes quietly, relief flooding out with them, the tension and fear from the past weeks, the grief.

Altaïr did not want to let him go, but Ezio was uncomfortable in his own grave, he could feel it, so Altaïr cradled him in his arms like he had when he last held him.   Only this time, he was warm, breathing, alive and it had Altaïr’s heart soar. He brought him out of the crypt into the moonlight outside.

“You return to me,  _ hayete _ .”

 

Ezio was awed, humbled that Altaïr would cry for him. Because of him. He held the man in his arms, let him help him out of the grave and followed him to the outside, all without letting go of one another. Not even for an instant would they part.  They sunk to the ground outside, holding each other, Altaïr breathing in every second of Ezio’s living body and beating heart, and Ezio held onto him, overwhelmed by the clarity of his memories and the strength of Altaïr’s emotion.

He let Altaïr push his face into his neck and Ezio buried his nose in Altaïr’s sandy hair. He smelled so good, so familiar, so dear that Ezio’s heart felt ready to burst again, but this time, it was strong enough to keep going.

“Shh, _amore_ ,” he tried to console the tears flowing from Altaïr’s face, but they were not of sorrow, they were joy. Ezio took his face between his hands, marveling at him, seeing the moonlight reflect in watery pools of gold, and Ezio kissed the tears off of Altaïr’s skin.

“I’m here. I’m here again, you got me back. My heart soars with yours, always, my love.”

 

The words tugged on Altaïr’s lips, made him smile through his tears. His hands could not let go off Ezio, his fingers travelling over him, eager to feel him, to see he was real and here, with him.

Altaïr was not ashamed of his tears, he kissed Ezio’s hands on his face and leaned his cheek against his palm. Golden eyes never once strayed from his form, he took him in completely, basked in Ezio’s presence, grateful, adoring, overwhelmed.

It took a while until he could speak, until his tears had stopped, until he could sit still. Altaïr’s hand found Ezio’s cheek and he ran his thumb over the young man’s face.

“ _ El Kamar Helou Wa Inta Ahhla. _ ” Altaïr said and it did not matter that Ezio did not understand, he translated it for him readily, “The moon is beautiful but you are lovelier. I should have… expected this, but I did not, I could not think, I was consumed by mad hope.”

His hand ran through Ezio’s hair. “And here you are. With me.”

 

“I thought I was ready to die, Altaïr,” Ezio could not look away from the man whose love would bring him back from the grave, quite literally, “but my last thought was regret. Regret that you would be alone again. I wanted nothing more than time with you, _caro mio_ , and here I am.”

Ezio noticed that Altaïr’s fingers were carding through quite a lot of hair. Ezio paused his lovestruck reverie to look at his own hand, free of liver spots and paper skin. He touched a hand to his face.

“ _Dio mio_...I am beautiful, aren’t I?”

 

“You are.” Altaïr confirmed. Ezio’s lighthearted reaction turned his smile into a soft chuckle and his fingers wandered into the back of his neck to draw him in closer and bring their lips together.

The kiss was soft and loving, but Altaïr held back as to not ruin the moment. There was plenty of time now, they had more time with each other than any of them had ever dared to wish for. There was  no need for him to be desperate and hasty.

When they parted, Altaïr was still smiling.

“It was not a joke, you are beautiful. From the reaction I take you did not believe me very often when I said it, even though I meant it every time.”

He raised Ezio’s hand to his lips and kissed all of his knuckles.

 

Ezio could only take the sweet flattery to heart as he leaned forward to catch Altaïr’s lips in a kiss once more before tugging them both up on their feet.

“ _Amore_ , Take me away from here. Anywhere will do, as long as it is with you.”

Ezio was being selfish and considering only what would serve his heart and Altaïr’s right now. His family, his wife and children, still thought him to be dead. And yet, Ezio wanted to feel this first night of true life with Altaïr, even if it was in some haystack in an old Borgia tower. He wanted to hold Altaïr against him and just listen to his heartbeat, and maybe thank the pieces of Eden for finally giving them both a reward instead of more pain.

Altaïr complied.

Together again, at last.

 

-x-

 

The villa on the hill above them looked comfortable and homely enough and yet both Altaïr and Ezio hesitated.

After they’d woken from a short slumber following their night-time adventure, Altaïr had shared his robes with Ezio. They had gotten some looks on their way through Firenze, two young men on one horse, one wearing breeches and only a light undershirt, the other one with robes and cape covering his upper body, but no pants or boots on his legs.

It had taken quite some time to get to the Auditore villa what with the poor horse carrying them both, but now that they were here, Ezio’s grip on Altaïr’s waist had tightened so much that Altair stopped the horse at last.

“What is it?” He asked, but did not sound so certain either. Surely Ezio was not sure how to approach his family who had known him as an old man and thought him dead. Altaïr was silent for a  moment. It had been similar for him in Egypt, not the same situation, but he too had not introduced himself to his own descendants that he’d found out about.

“Do you want to leave?”

  
  


“I cannot just leave. They are...my children, my wife.” Ezio’s voice trailed off as he stared at the villa. It had been weeks since he left it for Firenze, to go to market with his family, the morning of his last day of life. It seemed absurd now that he remembered it so well. Ezio’s fingers moved across Altaïr’s stomach. 

“I can’t...just walk away. Would you?”

Altaïr had died and come back to life when it was far too late. Altaïr was the only soul in this world that understood Ezio, now more than ever.

 

Altaïr looked at the villa, let his eyes wander over the vineyard. He thought of Darim and how he’d been the only one left of their family after his death. How his son had made himself a life of his own, even without his father.

“It was a different situation for me.” Altaïr concluded, “Darim was a grown man. Your children are young and so is your wife. And I have to go there anyway, apologize to Sofia.” Ezio didn’t have to ask, Altaïr already knew he wanted to know why, “Your daughter, treasure as she is, brought me an apple to hand to you. She did not know you were gone and she was right, you were not. I made a promise to her and I’ve left Sofia alone.”

 

“...Perhaps you should go ahead.” Ezio considered the possibilities. His children were indeed still young. The pieces of Eden, his resurrection, his youth...these were serious and difficult topics. And they were secrets that people killed for. Ezio couldn’t put that burden on his children. And Sofia, she knew half of it already, true, but Ezio had always kept the scale of things away from her, just so she wouldn’t be concerned for the safety of their family.

A family that Ezio still had a duty to protect, even if his place in it had become something very complicated.

“I...I’ll wait. Out of sight.”

 

Altaïr slid off of the horse and reached out to squeeze Ezio’s leg with reassurance.

“I will let her know. Perhaps you can come through your study’s window, I will ask her to come with me and let the children play outside.”

Ezio looked uncertain and Altaïr understood. But Sofia, it would probably lift a weight off of her shoulder to know her husband was not gone. He took the path up to the villa, much like he had when he’d first gotten here and just like back then, he also did not knock on the front door, but walked around to the back.

 

Sofia was deeply involved in a book she was reading, still clad in mostly black, but at least she was not crying. Flavia and Marcello were playing under the olive tree and did not notice him approaching their mother either.

 

“Sofia.” Altaïr said softly when he’d come closer, but kept his polite distance, “Sofia, please come with me.”  He saw the surprise turning to fury in her eyes when she looked up and recognised him, the hurt and the grief and Altair bowed his head to it.

“Not for my sake. For Ezio’s.”

 

“You have done enough to disgrace his love for you,” Sofia hissed, still on edge from her previous confrontation with Altaïr. It wasn’t so much that he’d chosen to act the way he did, but the timing of it. Sofia had lost not just her husband, but a good friend as well, and the only person beside herself and her children who could understand how much poorer the world was without Ezio in it.

“Flavia, Marcello. Inside, now.”

Both children had milled around Altaïr excitedly, clearly happy to see him. Both also now looked very disappointed as they were herded inside of the house. Sofia closed the door behind them and turned back to the lingering shadow.

 

Altaïr watched them go. Depending on the outcome of this, he would never get to tell Flavia he’d kept the promise. His gaze wandered back to Sofia.

“There are no words that could make up for my wrongdoings.” Altaïr said and he meant his words, remembering not only Sofia, but all of his other misdeeds, “No words, but actions. Please, let me show you. There is a reason I left in such haste.” From his pocket, he pulled out his own Apple of Eden.

“Mine.” He stated, “The one buried with me.”

He reached into his other pocket and produced Ezio’s Apple, the one from under the Vatican.

“Ezio’s.”

 

Sofia stared at the two artifacts for a long moment, trying to make sense of what Altaïr was not saying. She also never got to really inspect any of the pieces of Eden, though she did hear about them from her husband on more than one occasion.

“Why...are you giving it to me?” She sounded more confused than angry, at least, so Altaïr had managed that.

 

“I’m showing you the only proof I had, the thing I clung to, what made me leave with such haste.”

He regarded the Apples in his hands for a moment, weighed his words.

“Back in Masyaf, when he first found the library… He returned with me and let you know I had been locked up in there as punishment.” Altaïr paused, collected himself for finally telling someone the whole story. Sofia needed to know otherwise she would never come with him.

“He lied to you. It was not punishment I had been locked up for.” Altaïr met her eyes, gaze soft, aware that chances were high she would not believe him, “It was my own death, half a millennium ago.”

He raised the hand with his own Apple. “Ezio brought me back from the dead with this.”

Sofia’s eyes wandered unmistakably to the other Apple, then back to Altaïr in question, who simply nodded.

“Follow me to his study. The children must not see.”

 

Sofia’s world was going for another, strange ride. She always knew there was something fishy about the initial story that Ezio had told her about the young man he’d emerged with in Masyaf. Later, he’d adjusted the tale, citing that it was a sort of miracle and Altaïr was indeed the man who had written the very letter that had brought them together.

And now, this?

Her eyes grew large and curious, despite her lingering misgivings.

“Back...back from the dead?” She swallowed a lump in her throat and was glad she’d sent the children away. She knew Altaïr was not mad, but this story was implying something she both dreaded and hoped for.

“And...and it...did you...?” she couldn’t say it out loud.

 

Altaïr moved closer to gently place a hand on her back and lead her with him to the side entrance.

“I was half-mad with hope for it to work the same way again. I would be fully mad now had it not. Come. I told him to wait for us upstairs.”

Sofia was thunderstruck and Altaïr could not hold it against her. The poor woman had gone through a lot, and now this? It was much to take in, but he hoped that once she saw her late husband again, maybe she would work through it faster.

They made their way inside and upstairs, followed by a curious Flavia and Marcello.

 

“Flavia, Marcello, to your room,” Sofia wasn’t going to take any chances with her children. If Altaïr spoke the truth, Ezio could be just one door away. Her beloved had been buried weeks ago, and was bound to...if he had just come back to life as he’d been, her children could absolutely not see him.

And if Altaïr had gone mad and some stranger awaited her, she wanted her children safely behind a door.

Once they were out of the way, Sofia reached for the handle of the door leading to Ezio’s former study. She’d moved his things from the barn to the study and hadn’t looked at any of it since, too distraught to throw Ezio’s belongings away.

Her hand trembled, but she couldn’t wait any longer. The door swung open and someone tall stood by the window. Sofia couldn’t see his face, not with the light and not with the hood clinging to his head. It could have been any assassin, really, but she knew very few men who would be bold enough to wear that armor set.

“...Ezio?” she asked, voice thin and broken, but still hopeful.

 

He turned around. Sofia didn’t see the stooped back of her husband, or the grey beard of an old man. The face under the hood was young, impossibly young, smooth and yet bearing such a familiar scar, nose and warm eyes. 

“Sofia.”

A wail tore from her throat and she ran forward to embrace the stranger. Ezio caught her, spun her and buried his nose in her auburn hair.

“ _Caro mio_...” He glanced towards Altaïr, giving a faint nod towards the children’s room. He’d need some time to talk to his wife about all of this.

 

Altaïr had kept his distance, politely waiting at the door. It was easy to fall back into how they had lived over the past years, sometimes they shared Ezio and other times they did not. This was a time not shared, Altaïr had had his the night before and returned the nod before retreating from the room. The expression on Ezio’s face… It was good to see him happy like this.

 

He met Flavia and Marcello not in their rooms, but in Sofia’s (and Ezio’s) bedroom with big, questioning eyes and sat down with them on the bed, telling them a story of a hidden Apple that made wishes come true until they both fell asleep, Flavia cuddled into his arm, Marcello sprawled half on top of him.

Half a day passed uninterrupted in the Auditore villa. Ezio and Sofia stayed in the study for most of it, talking. Some of it, not talking, but mostly, the future was in dire need of a discussion.

 

By the time Ezio came to find Altaïr again, it was late afternoon. The children were still asleep and mostly laying on Altaïr and Ezio lingered by the bed, watching them. He wouldn’t get to tell Flavia and Marcello what they needed to hear, and it broke his heart, but he agreed with Sofia on the matter.

 

Their children knew nothing of assassins or pieces of Eden, and they would keep it that way. They knew their father to be dead, and they’d keep it that way. Flavia and Marcello should not know of this resurrection, or any for that matter.

It tore at Ezio’s heart to know he couldn’t be around his family, but Sofia had spoken wisely on the matter. He could not fathom how she could make a decision such as that, but motherhood lent her authority like never before.

“ _ Amore _ ,” he whispered after kissing each of his children on the head, rousing Altaïr as gently as he could, “we’re leaving.”

 

Altaïr had dozed off in the meantime. Laying around with two sleeping children in a comfortable bed, content from the night before, but also tired had a lulling effect even on a master assassin. When Ezio entered the room, instinct woke him up, but lazily so as he quickly understood it could be no one but his beloved.

His words had him open his eyes slowly. For a moment, he studied Ezio’s face who looked not so happy with what he was proposing, but knowing Sofia, she had probably had very convincing arguments for the younger Italian to agree to.

Altaïr took great care to not wake up either of the children as he moved himself out of the bed. Ezio had found his way into some of his old robes, so Altaïr could get fully dressed in his own armour again.

 

Sofia met them at the front door with supplies for the journey. Altaïr did not meet her eyes, aware of the hurt he’d brought her still and ready to atone. He took the leather bag with gratitude and fastened it on his back. The weaponry on him made only the faintest of metallic noises. 

 

Sofia did meet his eyes, even when he avoided her. She touched his arm, apology in her gaze.

“Forgive me, my dear friend. I misjudged you in my anger.”

This might very well be the last time she saw him or Ezio, and she was not prepared to let Altaïr leave with bad blood between them. He’d done right by Ezio, even if it cost Sofia confusion and hurt along the way. Now, he’d brought Ezio to her, to ensure they could, ultimately, have a proper goodbye. No amount of pride could keep her from feeling grateful to him.

 

The touch to his arm was gentle and Altaïr’s eyes followed the length of her arm up to her face where he found true forgiveness for the hurt he’d caused. His hand came to rest on Sofia’s arm, squeezing it lightly, but when she moved closer, ever the lady that knew what she wanted, he readily enclosed her in his arms.

"I have nothing to offer forgiveness for, but I am grateful for yours.” Altaïr responded, quietly, hugging her tightly before he let go and took a step back to let Ezio say goodbye.

 

“You take care of him,” Sofia muttered to her husband’s lover before she stepped back and let him go. Ezio took his place and folded her into an embrace. 

 

“Are you sure about this, Sofia?” he tried one last time, but Sofia shook her head.

“Yes. This is best for all of us. This doesn’t have to be goodbye forever, _caro mio_ ,” she pressed a kiss to his lips and wondered when she’d started to prefer a beard on a man. Probably around ten years ago, when she met the most interesting man in her life.

Ezio looked petulant and sad, so Sofia made it shorter, painless.

“I’m too old for those puppy dog eyes, Ezio. Go, We’ll be alright, I promise.”

 

Altaïr waited, but Ezio seemed adamant on treating his wife with his most sappy look. It worked even better with his young face, but Altair knew the dangers of falling prey to it even when he’d been older. His hand found Ezio’s arm and with a small nod to Sofia, he gently turned him with him.

He would take care of him, the best care he had to offer.

 

-x-

 

The wind was warm, even up here on the merlons of Masyaf. Altaïr had not given thought to ever seeing this place again, a lost and forgotten bastion, the last there’d ever been for any assassin brotherhood.

His new life had taken him many places already, but he had not thought to ever return here. And yet, Ezio and he had had the silent agreement that it should be this place if any place. There was little left to the unknowing eye that would remind you of the Levantine brotherhood having had its heart here long ago, but Altaïr found every stone and corner to be familiar. They had moved through the castle silently, but when they entered the tower nearby, Altaïr turned to look at his lover.

Ezio was unusually quiet and had been ever since they got here. Altaïr had seen him stare at him on several occasions, but never said anything.

Now though, he addressed him softly, chest warming at the curious look in hazel eyes as he beckoned him inside.

“My study. Or what is left of it. Come inside.”

 

Masyaf was not as ruinous as Ezio feared. Years had passed since he retrieved Altaïr and the keys from here, but the fortress had not fallen into further decay. The Brotherhood that now oversaw this territory deemed it necessary to maintain the memory of their foundation, no matter if Altaïr had decreed fortresses to be counterproductive. Some tradition, even he could not write out of the Order.

It was dry and empty, save for the ancient furniture and maintained torches that they lit among the way. This fortress was the closest thing assassins had to a temple, and Ezio felt the weight and age of it on his back. His young, strong back. He was getting used to it again, but it still felt like an undue blessing. He climbed the stairs to Altaïr’s old study. The doors were imposing, the desk was still there, grand and ancient. Ezio stood in the doorway, struck by how much time had passed since Altaïr lived here, and somehow, he was still standing here, just because Ezio needed him to. It was humbling. It was awe-inspiring. Ezio bowed his head when Altaïr stepped further into the room, ahead of him. He brought his right fist up to his chest and saluted with a smile.

“ _Il mentor_.”

 

The title had Altair stop in his tracks. 

In the years that he’d been alive, he had quickly gotten used to just being a normal man, no one looking up to him, regarding him as something higher up. Even Ezio had lost his awe very quickly. Altaïr liked it that way, he had never been one to seek glory and reverence from others. But now, in his restored study, well-kept and almost exactly like he remembered it, Altaïr could indulge a little in the view that Ezio was teasing at.

He turned, slowly, smile tugging on his lips. Perhaps he could play this game with him a little longer, just two old young men enjoying life.

“Ezio.” Altaïr said, rounded the table and sat down on what had once been his chair. Golden eyes rested on Ezio’s face.

“It is good you return to me. Come closer. What news have you of our Italian brothers?”

 

Ezio was delighted to slip into the role of an assassin under this esteemed mentor. He approached the table, stopping before it and bowing his head.

“They are doing well. The Templar hold on Italia has been broken, and a strong leader guides the brotherhood to continued success. I hear she took over from a disastrously flamboyant man.”

 

“Ah, yes. Never one to work in the dark, that one. I’ve written him a letter once, yet never received one back. Perhaps he never got my message.” Altaïr mused, then looked up at Ezio, mustering him, his clothes.

“Ornated robes and… Take off your hood.” He waited until Ezio obeyed, then commented further, “You even grew your hair like an Italian.”

There was a small pause in which Altaïr’s gaze intensified, golden eyes bore into hazel ones.

Then he said with a darker, more private tone, “It suits you, Ezio.”

 

“Does it? I’ve been told I have charm, I thought I should grow the wild locks to match,” Ezio tried very hard to remain serious, but his smile lit up his face just moments later. He really wasn’t a great actor and the need to laugh about the situation was too tempting.

Really, what were they doing? Fooling around in this ancient temple to the Assassin Order...

“I would give you a reply to that letter in person if you would have me, Altaïr.”

 

Altaïr was a far better actor or rather, he knew how to keep serious and not pull a face. For now. He could see the amusement dance in Ezio’s eyes and when his face lit up, Altaïr’s followed. Ezio’s words were inviting, but Altaïr made no move to get up. Instead, he sat back in his chair, eyes raking lazily over Ezio.

“I would have you any time. But first, let an old man indulge in a long forgotten fantasy of his.”

It had been shameful, for a while, when Ezio had first come to his mind outside of the visions the Apple gave him.

When Altaïr felt like he saw Ezio right here in his study, reporting to him like any other assassin would, with this gorgeous face of his and the sparkle in his eyes… Imagining it had even let an old man feel embers in his stomach and Altaïr was perfectly happy to now be faced with reality instead of another sad dream.

“Take off your clothes. Slowly.” Ezio’s expression turned surprised and he opened his mouth to speak, but Altaïr was faster, “ _ Per favore _ .”

  
  


The request came very unexpected and Ezio’s eyebrow rose up to meet his hairline. Oh, he had long forgotten the small anecdotes made by an old, young man, about appreciating the beauty of youth.

But hell, why not? They were alone, miles away from any and everyone, and all that mattered in this moment was the wicked, feverish edge to Altaïr’s gaze.

“All of them?” he smiled as he opened a button on his vest, exposing his chest as he used to in his youth. Next, his cape slid from his shoulder, fluttering to the ground as he stepped forward, offering more undone buttons.

 

“All of them.”  Altaïr confirmed, the glinting in his eyes becoming more obvious the more clothing met the ground.

His gaze traveled languidly over Ezio’s body, his strong shoulders and his well-sculpted muscles. It made Altaïr’s desire spike, his fantasy finally fulfilled and his own body not that of an old man but actually one to keep up with his beloved’s.

Once Ezio was stark naked, his clothes strewn around him, Altaïr pushed the chair back, but still remained firmly seated.

“Come here.”

 

When he followed the request, curiously,  Altaïr reached for his arm and pulled him onto his lap. There was plenty of space on the old chair for both Altaïr and a nude Ezio. Altaïr’s hands came up to run over Ezio’s shoulder, over his chest and then down to his sides until they rested on his lips.

“For the longest time I was an old man with a vivid imagination, but here you are and here I am and I am not planning on letting this opportunity go to waste.” Altaïr confessed before he leaned in and kissed Ezio’s chest, hands wandering around him until he could plant them on Ezio’s firm buttocks, squeezing with purpose.

 

Altaïr’s intentions were made crystal clear and Ezio approved of them wholeheartedly.  It was strange to be in someone’s lap. He could honestly say he hadn’t sat in a lap since he was a small child, and none of it had been with this connotation.

“You’ll have all the opportunities you can think of, Altaïr,” he leaned down, wrapping his arms around  Altair’s neck, languidly kissing him as he tugged the hood off of his head. This was going to be as slow or fast as they wanted, because they had all the time in the world.

 

Ezio never thought he’d be naked in Masyaf, straddling the grand mentor, but here he was. One hand reached up to tug his hair loose and he moulded their bodies together. Altair was far too dressed for it to be really good just yet, but Ezio’s hard cock was brushing over his robes and it was entirely too much to resist. Ezio moaned quietly into Altaïr’s mouth.

“ _ Ana Bahebak _ .” His Arabic had improved, at least.

 

It had Altaïr smile against Ezio’s skin.

“You’re getting better, slowly, novice.” He purred, licking his way into Ezio’s mouth and then catching his lower lip between his teeth.

_ “Ba hip'ak mar'rah _ .” He answered, smirk tugging on his lips at his cheesy words, “ _ Ti amo di più. _ ”

Flirting with and kissing Ezio was a good distraction for producing the oil he wisely kept in a vial on his person. Ezio and he were not exactly waiting for a bed when passion for each other took them, such as now. He dribbled some of it onto the small of Ezio’s back, letting it run down between his cheeks where he caught it with his fingers that easily found their way into him thanks to the slippery liquid.

One of his hands found Ezio’s cock and curled around it, holding it trapped between his chest and hand whilst he stroked it. Altaïr’s gaze was fixated on Ezio, drinking in his reactions.

The man was glorious, with his sun-kissed skin, the chestnut long hair and his beautiful face and Altaïr could not get enough of him. And his noises! Altaïr’s own cock was twitching with every little moan and sigh falling from his lover’s lips.

Ezio had a gorgeous cock, too, but it would not see much more use now than what it was getting at the moment.

 

Altaïr’s reverent touch was doing everything right for Ezio’s tastes. His body was warming to the idea very quickly, and his lover’s fingers felt perfectly at ease within him. Ezio breathed in deeply, relaxing, trusting in Altaïr and everything he was doing. The kissing was interrupted by his need to make noise.

It echoed around the old walls and Ezio felt a little obscene, getting intimate in Masyaf itself, but one look into Altaïr’s adoring face was enough to sway even the most bull-headed of people. Ezio stroked along his jaw, admiring the line of it, kissing Altaïr’s cheeks, his temple, his forehead, his nose.

“ _Amore mio_ , you will be the first. Are you excited?” His smile was cheeky as he rolled his hips into those fingers.

 

“Very.” Altaïr underlined his words by rolling his hips up against Ezio’s, momentarily squeezing the hard evidence for it against him, never breaking their eye contact. His words had Altaïr curious though. First? Ezio had been so experimentative in his youth… But then again, it seldom had involved men.

“Your first, truly. It is an honour.” His fingers pressed deeper, and Ezio’s following groan had heat jolt down Altaïr’s spine.

 

Ezio’s cock was leaking onto the armour, but Altaïr could take care of that later. When his lover was eagerly meeting his fingers, rocking his hips in undeniable pleasure, Altaïr pulled his hands away and instead urged him to get up, following suit after as he quickly took off his robes.

Aware of Ezio’s eyes on him and his eagerness, Altaïr made short work of his clothing and found Ezio sitting on his desk, exactly where he wanted him.

 

Altaïr’s hand came to press against Ezio’s chest, indicating for him to lay back. The man was gorgeous and Altaïr could not help himself noticing every time when he was like this, splayed out in front of him, his chest rising more quickly than usual, with that expression in his eyes and his hard cock laying on his stomach. He bent over his beautiful lover, licking a trail down his chest until he could suck sensitive flesh into his mouth, if only for a moment.

Altaïr wanted Ezio in the throes of pleasure, together with him, he needed Ezio to want him as much as Altaïr wanted him.

 

That wouldn’t be a difficult challenge. Ezio went down like a courtesan being paid by a prince when Altaïr laid him out on the table like a gift.

The absurdity of what they were doing  _ where  _ waned fairly quickly and Ezio was left with the premise of having sex with Altaïr in this new, vulnerable position. But adventurous youth left its mark on Ezio, and he was fearless when it came to pleasures of the body. Besides. There was no one he trusted more than Altaïr, who was currently doing his best to sensually arouse Ezio and possibly drive him mad.

When his mouth touched Ezio’s skin, fire bloomed under it. Ezio gasped encouragingly, hands coming down to seek any part of Altaïr.

“ _Amore_ , you are going to drive me mad. I know I’ve said it before, but this time, I mean it.”

He almost squirmed under Altaïr’s ministrations. His lover just knew how to hit every spot along the way.

 

Altaïr took his sweet time, even after Ezio’s warning. His fingers splayed on Ezio’s thighs, Altair focused the work of his tongue and lips on the man’s cock in his mouth.

Another achievement of this new life time,Altaïr had always had fantasized about this, but never actually dared to think about this becoming reality. But here he was, five hundred years later, with the most beautiful man he had ever seen digging his fingers into his shoulders, muscles tensing and relaxing under his fingers asAltaïr’s mouth worked on his cock.

When Ezio’s fingers found short, sandy hair to grab, Altaïr groaned around the flesh in his mouth and then, finally, pulled away, golden eyes filled with a wild sort of desire. It immediately translated into action as he fumbled for the oil once again. With his own cock glistening from it and in his hand, Altaïr pulled Ezio closer to position himself.

Ezio didn’t have to say anything, Altaïr could see it in his eyes, feel it in the urgent motions of his body and his hands reaching out for him. He inhaled and then slowly pushed himself into Ezio. The heat around his cock was indescribable. Altaïr remained careful, but he continued moving forward into Ezio, slowly, until he was fully inside.

 

Ezio sucked in a deep breath and held it, waiting for the pain to come. It did not, instead, there was just this wondrous fullness and odd, slick sensation. His grip on Altaïr’s hair loosened and he allowed his hands to drift to the desk, stroking over the ancient wood as he felt out the sensation of what it meant to lay with a man.

“You feel good,” he commented, not trying to hide the surprise in his voice, “It’s...I’m full, but good. _Dio_...”

Ezio adjusted on the table, legs coming up to clamp around Altaïr’s waist.

“Keep going. I want to feel you more.”

 

That Ezio was a fantastic lover, Altaïr had already known alongside with probably half of Italy’s female population.  But him enjoying himself, and that to his own surprise, that he pulled Altaïr more into him was enough to wake Altaïr from his momentary stupor.  His hands, firmly planted on Ezio’s hips, stroked up over his belly and then back down to his thighs where he curled them and held onto supple muscle as he drew back only to thrust back into him a moment later.

Both of them moaned as pleasure rushed through them and Altaïr wasted no time in doing it again and again until he had picked up a steady rhythm, eyes transfixed on his lover.

“ _ Ya habib albi. _ ” Altaïr brought out, “ _ Ya rouhi. _ ”

The sweet words falling from his lips were induced by the overwhelming sensation of being inside of the man he loved, but he meant them all the same.

Altaïr was torn between drinking in the sight of Ezio, his flushed face, his sprawled out hair, and the way he looked beneath him like this, and closing his eyes to lose himself in the feeling of burning heat and tight friction around his cock.

Ezio didn’t know if he looked like a masterpiece or a mess, but he felt amazing. The sensation was new and unique and it belonged only to Altaïr. Ezio felt the very ache of Altaïr burned into his body, searing his words, his name, his love right into Ezio’s being. And he adored every moment of it.

It was easy to find the rhythm and hold it, Ezio’s hips moving to rush to meet Altair’s thrusts. Each of them took a little more of his mind away, wiped a little memory of something else, until his head was empty. 

And Altaïr filled it to the brim with his words, with the sweet conviction of his love. Ezio never knew that he could feel this loved again and he wanted to thank Altaïr for making it possible, for giving back life to him so that they could experience this again. Or maybe they were dead and united at last, and this world was merely the wandering piece of heaven they deserved.

Ezio wondered if any of the profound nonsense in his head made any sense at all, but it didn’t matter. Not when Altaïr worked so hard to put fire under his skin.

His moans echoed in the office.

 

Altaïr’s skin was on fire, heat spreading into his body from where he was joined with Ezio. His grip on him had shifted, one hand holding onto his hip the other one running over his chest, thumb finding a hardened nipple to tease.

Ezio was a work of art, a piece of beauty and in this very moment, he belonged to Altaïr and him only.

Sharing him with all the women he’d seen in the Apple and Sofia had been acceptable, but Altaïr had waited five hundred years and finally, finally Ezio was not only here but also his in a way that made him get dangerously close to the edge of just losing himself in pleasure. He held onto his sanity, gasping as he leaned over Ezio to kiss his belly, lips replaced by teeth very soon as he bit into soft skin, hand wandering up to cup the back of his neck. Altaïr moaned, the sound muffled by Ezio’s skin as he moved into him harder, making the desk creak.

As he raced the wonderful sensation in his gut, Altaïr’s fingers clawed into dark hair, pulling Ezio’s head back with some force.

 

The jarring sensation of his hair being pulled to move his head almost shook Ezio out of the ecstasy he was racing toward. He opened his eyes, a little in question, a little wildly aroused. He could see the glimmer of something in Altaïr’s gaze and he promised to have it explored; this would not be the last time he surrendered to his lover’s seduction.

It felt amazing. Altaïr was a driving force that would not stop and Ezio keened out a wordless warning to him. Usually, he’d be mortified to be the one propelled towards his orgasm, but with Altair he was happy to let everything go. He was the only person in the world that Ezio would entrust himself to like this, completely. He was lithe beneath Altaïr, fire blooming wherever their skin brushed.

 

Altaïr’s thrusts were hard and fast and a little bit erratic. He let go off Ezio’s hair in favour of holding onto his hips, pressing him down and keeping him in position. There was fire in his veins, Altaïr was sure about it, because Ezio always ignited fire in him, burning brightly and eager to consume.

“Ezio…” He brought out, voice incredibly hoarse and deep, the name of his lover more of a moan than anything when Altaïr finally found his release, pushing his pulsing cock deep into his beloved as he spilled himself.

Only after he’d come down from his high, Altaïr realised his grip must be bruising and he loosened it, unable to let go off this beautiful man so soon already.

“ _ Kāna muqaddaran lanā ʾan nakūna maʿan. _ ” Altaïr whispered, “ _ We were meant to be together, _ ”  He kissed Ezio’s stomach. “Like this.”

 

Altaïr was a downright poet when he spilled his heart. Ezio could appreciate it through the thick haze of his own orgasm, which felt different than any he’d had before. Maybe it was because of the position, or the new sensation of having a man for a lover and laying with him, but the noise that left his mouth as the throes of passion took him bounced around the ancient walls and nearly deafened Ezio to Altaïr’s pleased, dark voice.  Only when he calmed a little could he appreciate the way Altaïr’s lips made his skin bloom warmly, even though he was hot all over. He drank in the sight of his lover, speechless behind the thick veil of pleasure. He reached out for Altaïr, pulling him up, demanding him on top of Ezio, close, closer, close enough to feel as if their skin was melting together.

“We are. And we will be, _amore_. As long as I am alive, as long as you are, we will soar together, Altaïr.”

 

Altaïr complied all too happily, joining his lover on top of the table, aligning their nude forms.

After a brief kiss to Ezio’s lips, Altaïr brought their foreheads together.

“Perhaps this is punishment for a lifetime of killing. Perhaps we are to live on and see all we built up fall to dust. If it is really to be punishment, the Apple made one mistake…” Altaïr’s scarred lips stretched into a smirk, his golden eyes softened as they gazed into Ezio’s, “It chose us both.”

 

Perhaps it would be a punishment, some time in the future, when the people Ezio loved started getting old, started dying because life was usually a short and precious thing. Perhaps it would be a punishment when the Brotherhood could no longer sustain, when it would call on them without respect to their previous service to the Creed.

Perhaps one day, Ezio could muster regret. But that day was far, impossibly far away, because Ezio was not alone anymore. Never would be, again. Maybe he never had been in the first place.

With gentle fingers, he carded through Altaïr’s hair, brushed over his temple and stared into his eyes.

“Then I hope it punishes us for the rest of time, Altaïr.”

 

-The End, this was the most indulgent fluff I've ever written-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s  
> Zio - uncle  
> namrah - tiger  
> tesoro - treasure  
> habibi - my love  
> cuore mio - my heart  
> hayete - my life  
> amore - my love  
> caro mio - my dear  
> dio mio - my god  
> per favore - please  
> ana bahebak - I love you  
> Ba hip'ak mar'rah - I love you more  
> Ti amo di piu - I love you more  
> Ya habib albi - I love you  
> Ya rouhi - you are my soul


End file.
